


Blood Alone Remains

by missingnolovefic



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AH Kings Big Bang 2018, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Big Bang Challenge, Court Politics, Court Shenanigans, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, Kidnapping, King!Ryan, Political Kidnapping, Political Unrest, Princess!Lindsay, Spy!Alfredo, Spy!Gavin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: When Princess Lindsay is kidnapped, it falls to Gavin to help her escape. Can he pull it off without getting caught by spymaster Trevor?Lindsay isn't going to make this easy for King Ryan, either. She‘s no damsel, even if her hands are bound by circumstance. Not bad looking circumstances for sure, given who is keeping her company...Meanwhile, Alfredo has his own duties to fulfill and something to prove. There's just something off about Sir Gavin, even if he can't put his finger on it.





	Blood Alone Remains

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the AH Royal Court Big Bang Challenge 2018 :D I'm super excited to finally share this!
> 
> Couple notes before we start:
> 
> * The artist I've been partnered with is [CrossedMoon](http://crossedmoon.tumblr.com) and you can find his art piece for this story [here!](https://crossedmoon.tumblr.com/post/178427098482/one-last-glance-at-her-highness-revealed-her-to)
> 
> * Big shout-out to my two betas and the best enablers on this world, [Kays](http://kaysno.tumblr.com) and [Luna](http://lunarlover12.tumblr.com) <3 you both worked hard to make this story so much better and it really shows!
> 
> * There's some hint of Gavin/Alfredo in this story, though I chose not to tag for that ship because of plot reasons.
> 
> * While the tagged ships apply, the story's focus is mostly gen, as by the Big Bang's rules.

Dark clouds rolled across the sky, hiding the moon. Heavy rain splattered on the cobblestone, the road glistening wetly in the swinging lantern light. The clatter of hooves against stone and the squeaking of the wheels were the only other sounds around them. A crack of thunder, followed by a streak of lighting that lit their way. Lindsay let the curtain drop back to cover the small window.

“Anything?” Lady Ashley asked in a whisper. The future Vidame of Kerplunk twisted one of the many blankets smothering them between her hands. Lindsay shrugged.

“It’s dark,” she offered. Lady Steffie sighed.

“We were supposed to arrive at Creekstown by dusk,” she murmured with a frown. “We can’t have been delayed by that long. Hold on.”

Ever pragmatic, Lady Steffie slipped free of the blankets and knocked on the wood separating them from the driver.

“Coachman Blanchard?” she called out. The reins sailed through the air with a sharp whipping sound. One of the horses nickered, but the carriage rolled faster over the stones. A bump in the road caused Lady Steffie to stumble. “Coachman? What’s going on? Why aren’t we in town yet?”

No answer. They exchanged a long look.

“There’s trouble afoot,” Lady Ashley murmured, glancing at the windows nervously. Thunder rolled in the distance. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Yes,” Lindsay agreed dryly, leaning forward with a grin. She lowered her voice. “Evil lurks in the shadows. A darkness insurmountable. They say those who lose their way in these woods will never return. Don’t douse the lantern, they say. Only by lantern’s light will you find your way back.”

Lightning lit up the world, and Ashley screamed. Lindsay cackled.

“Your Highness!” Lady Steffie huffed, rolling her eyes. “Now is really not the time for your ghost stories.” She firmly knocked on the wood again. “Coachman Blanchard!”

“Y-yes?” a timid voice called back, nearly drowned by the buffering winds. A high-pitched squeak followed, and Lady Steffie frowned. She turned to look at Lindsay, who shook her head, face serious.

“Hey, Andy! Where are we at?” Lindsay yelled, straight to the point. Lady Ashley glanced nervously at Lady Steffie.

“A-almost there, Y-your H-highness!” Blanchard stuttered. With another crack of the whip the carriage lurched forward. “P-please wait just a moment!”

“Something’s off,” Lady Ashley whispered. Her hands were buried in the folds of her blanket. “This isn’t- this isn’t right. That doesn’t sound like Andy.”

“I think we’ve been hijacked,” Lindsay agreed. “Andy’s a sweetheart, and he knows us. When’s the last time he called any of us by title on the road?”

Her ladies in waiting nodded solemnly. Another bump in the road, and Lady Steffie sat back down. Lady Ashley fidgeted with her sleeves.

“We should switch dress, my lady,” she spoke up hesitantly. Lindsay turned to look at her. Her brown eyes were wide and scared, but the set of her mouth spelled determination. “They must be after you, Your Highness.”

“Ashley-”

“She’s right,” Lady Steffie interrupted. She nodded resolutely. “One of us should pretend to be you, Your Highness. Even if they don’t know who you are, which is unlikely, your dress is still conspicuously fancier than ours.”

Lindsay pursed her lips, but was forced to agree. As little as she liked endangering her friends, she couldn’t risk herself. Her kingdom was teetering on the edge of war and peace. The temporary ceasefire might not last if she fell into the wrong hands. Reluctantly, she switched places with Lady Ashley and hoped her friend would remain unharmed.

The rhythm of the jostling changed, the cobblestones turning into a smoother path. Lindsay frowned, lifting the edge of the curtain up. The light of the lantern lit up the trees and bushes littering the path. They slowed down as the wheels worked through the mud. There was no way they were still heading for the town.

“Hold,” Andy called out, and the horses neighed, the stomping of their hooves near silent. The carriage came to an abrupt stop.

Lindsay exchanged a look with her ladies in waiting and nodded grimly.

The moment they stepped out of the carriage, she knew their ruse to be useless. Two men stood before them, dressed in chainmail and wearing gleaming iron helmets. The shorter one held a shortsword at Andy’s throat, the poor boy staring at her wide-eyed. But what caught her eye was the blue sheen of the other man’s sword, hanging at his hip. Her heart sank.

Lady Ashley stepped forward, head held high. “And pray tell, what is the meaning of this?”

The man with the blue sword glanced at her, eyebrows rising as he took in her dress. Then he turned his gaze unerringly towards Lindsay.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” he drawled, sketching a bow. “But we must insist to escort you.”

Lady Ashley opened her mouth, but Lindsay laid a hand on her arm to stop her. Her mouth snapped shut and she gave Lindsay a narrow-eyed look.

“Lord Michael,” Lindsay greeted him with a graceful tilt of her head. “And… Lord Jeremiah, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Your Highness,” the shorter man said, bowing with a flourish of his shortsword. “These are dangerous times to be travelling the borders without a guard. Please, allow us to see you through safely.”

“You mean _across_ the border,” Lindsay returned drolly.

“His Majesty worries,” Lord Jeremiah responded with a grin. Lord Michael gave him an unimpressed look. “As it is, you don’t have a choice, Your Highness.”

He snapped his fingers and people dressed in brown leather armour and green wool stepped out from between the trees. At first glance they appeared as bandits, but Lindsay was certain they belonged to Ryan’s army, or were otherwise loyal. No use in trying to bribe them.

“You have me,” Lindsay agreed, lifting her arms in surrender. “What of my entourage?”

“We will dispatch some men to guide them back to the road,” Lord Michael promised. He sounded sincere. “They will have to find their way from there.”

Lindsay hesitated, but… He’d proven himself a honest, if blunt man in their past dealings. “Very well. Lead the way, Lord Michael.”

She followed them past the carriage, some of the ‘bandits’ closing ranks behind her while others ushered the ladies and Andy back inside the coach. Lord Jeremiah grabbed a lantern off one of the ‘bandits’ and held it up high, shedding light on the muddy path. The earth squelched under her feet, and Lindsay had to lift her skirts to avoid dragging them through the sludge.

They led her across the meadow where a bunch of horses were grazing lazily.

“I hope you’re saddle-fast, Your Highness,” Lord Jeremiah spoke up. He handed the lantern off to one of his underlings. “Because we’re gonna go fast, and we won’t stop any time soon.”

“Is that a challenge?” Lindsay drawled, arching a brow at him. She stepped into the stirrup of the horse with a side saddle, presuming it was meant for her. It had no reins of its own, instead it was tied with a length of rope to the saddle of a dark stallion. Lord Michael swung himself into that saddle, while Lord Jeremiah settled on a white mare.

“That depends,” Lord Michael returned, something boyish in the way his cheeks dimpled as he grinned. “Can you keep up?”

She barely had time to grab a mounted knob on the front of the saddle before Lord Michael spurred his horse forward. Her horse’s head shot up and followed with a small jump, jostling her in the seat. Lindsay grit her teeth and held on tight. She wouldn’t give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her flying.

True to his words, Lord Jeremiah rushed them through several small towns, only stopping to exchange horses twice. They rode from dusk through dawn, and by the time the sun stood high in the sky, Lindsay could barely feel her numb bottom. Thoughts of escape had long since ceased as she no longer recognized the landscape. She could only assume that they were deep into the neighbouring kingdom.

“So where are you boys taking me?” she finally asked as they slowed down, giving the horses a bit of a break as they went uphill. The sun filtered through the foliage, providing them with dappled shadows. Her Lord captors dropped back to ride beside her, Lord Jeremiah on her left and Lord Michael on her right.

“Not much she can do about it now,” Lord Michael stated, exchanging a long look with Lord Jeremiah. He shrugged. “Might as well tell her.”

“Why not,” Lord Jeremiah agreed. She stared at him expectantly. “His Majesty the king is awaiting you at his summer castle, Your Highness. You’re invited to stay there until the treaty negotiations are concluded.”

“So basically I’m under house arrest until we have peace between our kingdoms,” Lindsay summed up dryly. “Great.”

“It’s not _that_ bad. We’re not actually barbarians, no matter what you might have heard,” Lord Michael chimed in.

“You don’t actually turn into a bear under the blood moon? Shame,” Lindsay teased, flashing the startled Lord Michael a grin. “I always wanted to pet a cub.”

“Even if I did turn into a bear,” Lord Michael snickered, “wouldn’t it be a full-grown one and not a cub?”

“A girl can dream,” Lindsay sniffed, raising her nose into the air. They chuckled, and Lindsay turned back to them with a grin. “So you don’t ritually drink the blood of your enemies?”

“No virgin sacrifices either,” Lord Jeremiah added, waggling his brows. “No need to worry, Your Highness.”

“Oh, fuck that. Just call me Lindsay,” she offered with an easy grin. The Lords exchanged a surprised look. “It’s not like we’re at court or anything. You guys don’t seem like the stuffy type.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “Or are you?”

“Nah,” Lord Jeremiah replied easily. “Friends call me Jeremy, and I guess you could do that, too.”

“Fuck you, Jeremy, I’ll win you over by the end of the week,” Lindsay claimed cheerfully, before turning expectantly towards her right. Lord Michael stared at the two of them in disbelief, before throwing his hands up.

“Sure, why the hell not.”

They arrived in the capital under the cover of night, almost another day and a half later. Lindsay sat half-asleep in her saddle, despite the horses’ shaky gait. They’d ridden another two sets of horses nearly to exhaustion to make quick time, only stopping in towns to switch saddles, leaving the humans barely any time to rest. And still Jeremy and Michael seemed alert, tense as they ushered her through the gates. It was too dark to make out more than shapes, but her captors refused to light a lantern.

Lindsay jarred awake as they came to a sudden stop. She didn’t even remember dozing off.

“S’goin’n?” she muttered, grimacing as she straightened. Everything ached from the long journey.

“We’ve arrived,” Jeremy answered quietly. “Come on. There’s a warm bed waiting for you.”

“What, no welcome feast?” Lindsay joked tiredly. Jeremy chuckled.

“His Majesty will receive you in the morning.” He offered her his hand and helped her down. “First, you get to rest.”

“Sounds heavenly,” Lindsay sighed, stretching. Her spine popped. “Ugh. At this point I’d take a bale of hay over horseback napping.”

“I can show you to the stables instead, if you insist,” Jeremy teased her.

“Why, milord.” Lindsay gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. She eyed him up and down with an appreciative grin. “I’m no simple maiden to request for a roll in the hay. Though I am tempted,” she added cheekily.

Behind her she heard Michael stifle a laugh. He stepped around her horse, coming up behind her. Lindsay watched him from the corner of her eyes.

“Sorry, the horses called dibs on the hay,” he offered, stepping up beside them. A soft smile played around his mouth. “If you want to get between them and their food… be my guest.”

“Curses, foiled again!” Jeremy exclaimed, miming being struck down by an arrow to the heart. He shook his head with a chuckle and straightened. “Let’s get you to the guest quarters, milady. The sooner you’re inside, the sooner _we_ can sleep, too.”

“Ah ha! I have discovered your nefarious plans.” Lindsay grinned and bopped Jeremy’s nose with her finger. Jeremy went cross-eyed trying to follow it. “I’m onto you!”

“You’re loopy, is what you are,” Michael declared. He grasped her gently by the shoulders and pushed her towards a building. “Bedtime. Before you make a spectacle of yourself, woman.”

Lindsay turned her grin towards Michael and lifted her middle finger. Michael’s eyes narrowed in warning. She dropped her hand and sighed exaggeratedly.

“Fine, fine. But only because I’ve been promised a bed.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning Jeremy woke her for a late breakfast. They ate together in silence, and then made small talk as the sun rose high in the sky. To her surprise, Lindsay found herself enjoying his company. He laughed at her jokes with genuine enjoyment, told stories about shenanigans he got into with a self-deprecating kind of humour that sat well with her. If circumstances were different, they might’ve become friends.

It was shortly after the sun crossed the zenith that Michael joined.

“His Majesty is ready to receive you now, Your Hi- Jesus fucking Christ, what are you wearing?”

Lindsay glanced down at the white undergown she’d slept in.

“It’s called clothes?” Lindsay arched a brow at Michael and grinned. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them before. Unless that was your way of asking me to undress…?”

Jeremy choked on a grape, his coughing intermixed with laughter. Michael stared at her blankly.

“What? No. I mean, what-” He shook his head, a sliver of amusement curling around the corner of his mouth. “I mean, unless you _want to_ \- but now’s not really time for that. We don’t want to leave His Majesty waiting.”

“In that case.” Lindsay threw her travel clothes a dirty look. “Guess I don’t have a choice. Shoo, boys.” She waved at them to leave the room. “Unless you want to watch. Oh, and if you could send in a maid or someone to help me, that’ll make it go faster, too.”

She could, of course, lace herself in just fine, but between getting dressed and braiding her hair it would take her some time. For a second she considered leaving King Ryan to wait, but finally she decided to antagonize him later. A simple piled braid would have to do. Aside from kidnapping her she’s been treated fairly so far. Besides, if she proved herself well behaved, it might afford her an opportunity to escape.

Jeremy was waiting for her in the hallway. Michael was nowhere to be seen.

“Your Highness,” Jeremy greeted her with an elaborate bow, before offering her his arm. “If I may?”

“You may, Lord Jeremiah,” Lindsay agreed, lifting her chin high, aware of the stolen glances sent their way. Jeremy wrinkled his nose, and Lindsay relaxed with a small smile. “Not a fan of your full name?”

“Not really,” he agreed lightly, leading her down the hall. He tilted his head. “Michael sends his apologies, he has other duties to see to. He’ll be back after your audience with His Majesty.”

Lindsay glanced at him from the corner of hers eyes and inclined her head. “Thank you. I appreciate your company this morning.”

“My pleasure, Your Highness.”

They walked in silence. Lindsay ignored the gawkers and hastily bowing servants, instead focussing her attention on the fine tapestries covering the walls. She kept the images in mind, counting how many turns they took. She might as well figure out how to navigate this place every chance she got. Jeremy stopped at a door and gestured to the guards.

“Her Highness, the Lady Lindsay.”

One of the guards nodded, and they moved to open the doors. Jeremy turned to her and bowed over her hand in a courtier’s kiss.

“And this is where I leave you, milady. Best of luck.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay returned dryly. “I’ll need it.”

The room opened into a sitting parlour, a settee to her left and a burning fireplace to her right. Straight ahead loomed two arched windows looking out over the courtyard. A man stood in front of the glass, back turned to her. The long, purple cape and the solid gold crown on his head identified him as King Ryan.

Lindsay cleared her throat and curtsied. “Your Majesty.”

The king turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes travelled over her, taking in the travel-worn, plain dress and unadorned head.

“Lady Lindsay, I presume,” he drawled, clasping his hands behind his back and turning to fully face her. “Your Highness. Welcome to Our humble abode.”

“Humble. Right,” Lindsay returned dryly. She let her gaze wander over the room, pointedly looking at the gilded baubles and ivory decorations. The pillows on the settee were embroidered with gold thread, and her eyes lingered there before turning her deadpan look to the king. “Uh huh.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a smirk playing around his lips.

“It is, compared to my winter palace further north,” he drawled. Once again he eyed her dirty dress, and Lindsay set her jaw and let him have this brag. Instead, she plopped down on the settee, crossing her ankles.

“Cute,” she drawled, clasping her hands in front of her. “How long am I to remain your prisoner then?”

“I see you've inherited your uncle’s charming manners,” King Ryan chided, giving her an arch look. He walked around and settled in the armchair across from her.

“I’m not the one who goes about kidnapping folks all willy-nilly,” Lindsay returned, shrugging. King Ryan rolled his eyes.

“You are Our honoured guest, invited to stay until and during the peace negotiations.” He paused, watching her intently. “After that, you are free to leave. I’d prefer it, of course, if you informed me of your departure. I’d like to offer a proper escort to the border at least.”

“Of course,” Lindsay scoffed. King Ryan just eyed her mildly. Lindsay bared her teeth in what barely passed for a smile. “Any house rules I should be aware of?”

“Polite manners for one are expected, though I suspect that’s a lost cause at this point.”

Lindsay snorted, making a rude gesture. King Ryan simply raised a brow.

“Lords Michael and Jeremy will keep you entertained during your stay,” he continued calmly. Lindsay tilted her head. She hadn’t realized he and Jeremy were close enough for the king to use his preferred name. “If you need anything, ask them and they’ll do their best to accomodate you.”

“What you mean is they’re my watchdogs,” Lindsay quipped, leaning back on the settee. “I suppose trips outside are not part of those request?”

“For your own safety, I must insist you stay within the castle walls,” King Ryan explained gently, the smirk playing around his lips a sharp contrast to his tone. “We do have very lush gardens for you to experience nature in, however.”

“I’m sure they’re very fine gardens,” Lindsay shot back, lifting her chin. “But I doubt they’re suitable to host a hunt.”

“Indeed,” King Ryan agreed, inclining his head. His eyes were sparkling. “However, I’m afraid all hunts are postponed until after the treaty negotiations. They are rather more important, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Possibly,” Lindsay acquiesced. She narrowed her eyes at King Ryan. “I suppose you would like me to accompany you to those meetings, Your Majesty?”

“Certainly not!” King Ryan made a show of sounding affronted. “While I assure you I have no intent of rekindling hostilities with King Geoffrey, negotiations have a terrible tendency of breaking out into violence. I would not wish to put you in harm’s way, Your Highness.”

“I see.” A hostage was easier to keep hidden away, she supposed. She’d assumed King Ryan would at least want to show her off, prove he had her… Lindsay pursed her lips. The opportunities of escape were dwindling. It seemed she would have to create her own.

“I’m afraid I have to take my leave of you, Your Highness. Duty calls.” King Ryan stood up, and she followed suit. “Please enjoy your stay. I will see you at dinner.”

“Your Majesty,” Lindsay murmured and curtsied. King Ryan swept out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts. Shortly after Michael appeared, escorting her back to her chambers. She eyed him speculatively. Both Lords had to be stalwart and loyal for such an important assignment. She had nothing but words to bribe them with, and King Ryan wouldn’t have chosen someone easily bribable. Still. It never hurt anyone to be friendly.

“I don’t suppose you grabbed my luggage from the carriage? I don’t think this-” She lifted the outermost skirt of Lady Ashley’s travelling dress, the hemline stiff and encrusted with dried mud. “-is quite appropriate for dinner at court.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Michael replied dryly. He eyed her dirty dress. “I’ll see if I can’t find you something. Wouldn’t want to make the wrong impression.”

Lindsay smiled gratefully.  “No, we really wouldn’t.”

 

* * *

 

The dining hall was bustling with guests. From high nobility to favoured artisans, court was always filled with colourful personalities. Servants squeezed through the crowd, carrying large platters of meats and cheese and fruits. Others were hauling jugs of wine, forever busy keeping the goblets full. Between the drama and the freely flowing wine loosening many a noble’s tongue, Gavin never dared to miss a dinner he was invited to. It was, as always, rich with information to be gleaned and packed into the back of his mind until he could find a place to write an innocuous letter.

Silence descended as the king arrived, purple cape billowing behind him as he entered. A murmur ran through the masses, and Gavin craned his head to see what caught people’s attention.

Following on His Majesty’s heel was a familiar redhead.

He barely managed to catch a glimpse of her before one of the nobles elbowed him aside, and his vision was obscured by a mass of moving heads. It didn’t matter. Heart stuck in his throat, Gavin held his breath as he scrambled for a better spot to confirm his fears.

The king sat at the head of the table, favoured nobles and advisors surrounding him. But the place of honour remained empty, until the redhead - Gavin’s breathing hitched - took the chair to His Majesty’s right.

Lindsay. What was Princess Lindsay doing here?

His Majesty stood again once everyone had settled, lifting his wine for a toast. Quiet spread across the crowd as everyone waited with bated breaths for the guest’s introduction. Blood rushed through Gavin’s ears, and he missed the first part, eyes locked on Lindsay. She didn’t look at anyone, head held high and gaze distant as she surveyed the crowd regally.

“-as of tonight We are delighted to announce Our esteemed guest, Her Highness Princess Lindsay, duchess of Obsideen, niece of-”

“Uh, it’s pronounced Obsidee _-en_ ,” the princess interrupted, voice dry and eyebrow raised. The king levelled her with an unimpressed look, before picking his speech back up. Gavin hiccuped, hiding a surprised smile behind his goblet of wine.

“-Obsi _dian_ , niece of King Geoffrey of the Free Fields to the South, Heiress to the Blooming Grasslands…”

The king droned on for a lot longer, but Gavin tuned him out as it became clear that nothing interesting was going to be said. One last glance at Her Highness revealed her to be unharmed. Superficially, at least. Someone had found her a dark green and yellow dress with golden embroidery, the colours of her kingdom. The coronet was missing from her head, which was a relief as much as it felt like an insult to her station. Instead her hair had been braided into a crown-like shape, the yellow of marsh and tree marigolds flattering her red hair. Small white pearls peaked out between the red and yellow, leaving her with a fanciful wreath of flowers and jewelry.

Princess Lindsay lounged gracefully in her chair to the right of the king, watching the court lazily. She didn’t seem in distress at all.

“...for she agreed to visit upon hearing of Our efforts to bring peace to Our warring kingdoms. We commend Her Highness’ zeal for armistice…”

Still. Her presence here could not be voluntary, not with the ceasefire announced only so recently.

Gavin gnawed at his lower lip, contemplating the issue as he let his gaze wander. Most nobles didn’t pay him any mind until they wished to request his entertainment later, and he used that relative anonymity to move amongst them freely. He’d worked hard to infiltrate King Ryan’s court. The king’s trust was difficult to earn, ever suspicious of those surrounding him. Gavin tried to appear as harmless as possible and distanced himself from his affiliation with Geoff as much as he could. It’d be a shame to lose this prime position where he could spy on the enemy’s court, but…

The peace treaty. King Ryan must be holding Princess Lindsay hostage to gain an advantage for the negotiations. Gavin couldn’t let that happen.

The court’s attention seemed for the most part riveted to the guest of honour. It wouldn’t do to approach her when everyone was watching, that’d be a red flag for anyone waiting for suspicious activity. No, he’d have to wait until he was ready to help her escape. They couldn’t be seen together at all.

“...and as such We celebrate tonight in hopes of reconciliation with Our neighbours…”

A heavy gaze fell on him and set the back of his head crawling. Gavin turned around and met Lord Trevor’s sharp eyes. The advisor observed him quietly for a moment, before inclining his head and moving on, gaze roaming over the crowd, picking out people here and there. Gavin shuddered. And that would be the reason why he couldn’t make a move until he was certain of success. If the king was a suspicious bastard, his royal advisor was downright paranoid.

Didn’t help that he was right to be cautious where Gavin was concerned, now did it?

Before he could mull that thought over too much, the court broke apart into several smaller groups littering the dining hall, the neighbouring sitting parlours and balconies. Gavin drifted among the crowd, listening in on conversations and chewing on a piece of bread. A countess complained of unrest in the East of the kingdom, a baron was extolling the virtues of his eldest daughter who’d remained unmarried despite her age. Gavin filed it all away for later, nodding along dutifully when a Lord or Lady turned to look at him expectantly.

It wasn’t long though that he was drawn into the same circles as his arch-nemesis was frequenting. Lord Trevor beckoned him over the moment he stepped close.

“Ah, Lord Edgar, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure yet of hearing from His Majesty’s latest favoured poet.” Lord Trevor raised his voice, drawing the attention of the crowd. He turned his sharp smile towards Gavin. “Please, master wordsmith, regale us with new tales from the South.”

Gavin put on a hapless smile and bowed deeply, mind running frantically through possible options and reminders of what _not_ to say. He was certain Lord Trevor was just waiting for him to trip up on his word choice. The feather sewn to his cap drooped into his face, and he brushed it back quickly as he straightened.

“Have you heard tale of the great general, Mark Nutt?” Gavin asked, then cleared his throat at their expectant expressions. “There’s no man in town more admired as Nutt, he’s everyone’s favourite tool. Everyone’s awed, inspired by his gut, he makes King Geoffrey look like a fool.”

His voice lilted pleasantly, rising and falling harmoniously over the words. The nobles stared at him, enraptured. Gavin dared a quick glance at Lord Trevor, his mien as inscrutable as always, halfway between blank and a gleam of amusement in his eyes. Bemused by the spectacle, perhaps.

“No one’s slick as Mark Nutt, no one’s quick as Mark Nutt, no one steals the king’s chick like Mark Nutt.” Gavin licked his lips, mouth dry. He had to really sell the next part. “For he slept with the queen, and the king not aware, made him general of his archers for that affair.”

The crowd tittered, ladies lifting their hands to giggle in secret. Gavin puffed up his chest and let his voice rise, enveloping the nobles in the words they wanted to hear. Not the truth, far from it. The truth never made for good war propaganda, and Gavin knew how to curry favour with the nobles.

“But one fact let me share, he knew nothing of warfare, lost battle after battle to his despair. So he won us the war, and might I even go that far, I’d write his memoir and do declare: my, what a hero, that Mark Nutt.”

The nobles broke out into boisterous applause, hooting and laughing as Gavin swept his feathered cap from his head and bowed low. Lord Edgar clapped begrudgingly, his expression dour.

“Ah yes,” Lord Trevor said, pretending to wipe away a tear from his eye. “What a hero indeed. Thank you, sir poet. As always, you have a most wonderful way with words.”

Gavin wasn’t sure if the compliment was honest, or riddled with menace. Lord Trevor didn’t sound sincere, the light mocking tone he usually affected left a condescending impression. But he never sounded like he took anything too serious, yet his sharp eyes surveyed the crowd, missing nothing.

Either way, Gavin would react the same.

“Thank you, my lord.” He bowed gracefully again. “I am at your service for as long as His Majesty wishes. Just call for me, and I’ll do my best to serve, whatever my lord wishes.”

“I’m sure His Majesty enjoys your sharp tongue quite a bit,” Lord Trevor drawled. Gavin glanced up sharply, the innuendo not lost on him. “Now, then. Lord Edgar, you mentioned earlier-”

The dismissal couldn’t be clearer. Still, Gavin lingered a moment longer before excusing himself.

Lord Trevor didn’t seem to watch him as he departed, yet Gavin could feel eyes drilling into the back of his head. A surreptitious glance over his shoulder revealed none of the nobles looking his way, Lord Trevor’s formidable focus directed at Lord Edgar. Something was up with that. Gavin frowned, nearly colliding with a servant carrying a jug of wine.

“Oh my, how clumsy of me- my apologies, good sir, I must not have been looking where I was going-” the servant babbled, bowing profusely and nearly spilling the wine over Gavin’s tunic.

“No harm done,” he offered hastily, taking a step back and out of range of the high-strung servant. Wide brown eyes stared up at him guilelessly. He must be new to this, Gavin thought, feeling his heart soften. “No, really. You’re fine. You’re not in trouble.”

“Thank you, good sir,” the young man stammered, nearly dropping the jug as he hurried to take Gavin’s hand in his own. At the last minute he shuffled the wine into the crook of his elbow, clasping Gavin’s hand with his own and squeezing gratefully. “Thank you, sir, for your kindness. And apologies again, I promise, I will take this mistake to heart and learn from it.”

“Uh, yeah. Uh. Sure?” Gavin stared, carefully pulling back his hand. “Be sure to… do that.”

Gavin stepped around the servant, who watched him adoringly as he left. The moment he stepped into the main hall, Gavin shook his head. What a weird fellow. Then he paused. Maybe this was the opportunity he needed? If he could find his way through the servants’ quarters with this man’s help, figure out how to sneak Lindsay out of here stealthily…

A glance back, and the servant was busy filling the goblets of the nobles in the circle Gavin just left behind. Sunkissed skin, darker than his own. Lanky, with dark hair. Handsome, Gavin supposed. Certainly easy on the eye. He wondered if he’d be open to advances, and if that might convince him to help Gavin out without too many questions.

He returned to the main hall, casting a look around. Quite a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered around the princess. Gavin almost fancied she was holding court, lounging on her chair in the middle of the group, head held high. He watched her a while longer - everyone was gawking, it’d be weird if he didn’t. She seemed in good health and lively spirits, considering she’d been kidnapped by a hostile monarch.

Gavin wondered if word had reached Geoff yet about her abduction.

He needed to write home straight away. This was too important. Hopefully the people’s general excitement at this turn of events would minimize the risk he was taking, leaving this early, but as long as Lord Trevor was occupied by the courtly shenanigans, Gavin could sneak a quick letter to his contact. At a glance, no one seemed to be paying attention to him. He turned on his heels and left, hurrying to the guest chamber he’d been given at the castle.

It was a relatively small room, a bed and a writing desk, a shelf with some leather-bound books the only luxury he allowed himself, since it flattered his cover. That and the reasonably nice clothing of a royal poet, the better to blend in. Nothing seemed out of place, but Gavin didn’t waste much time to check. He pulled out one of the books on the shelf, opened it to the third earmark and plucked the hidden letter from between the pages. A report he’d written up in advance, for whenever the opportunity arose to pass it along.

Ink and quill stood on the desk, and Gavin hastily scrawled another line onto the letter, fanning it to help it dry quicker.

_The golden bird sits in its cage, admired by its owner. Freedom was stolen, but from ashes a phoenix shall arise. The sun spreads its light across blooming meadows, flowering fields once more._

Gavin stared at the lines as he waited for them to dry, heart in his throat. Not his best form, admittedly, but he was in a hurry, and there was only so much code he could think of shoe-horning into a letter that was ostensibly to an admirer of his poetry.

The meaning should be clear all the same.

Gavin folded up the letter, sealed it with wax from the candle whose light he’d wrote by. Then he pulled up the long, fine chain around his neck, using the small round disk inlaid with gems to leave a faint impression in the wax. It wasn’t a very noticeable pattern, that was the point. But it was unique in its own way, proof that Gavin was writing the letters of his own free will. If he ever got caught or coerced into sending misinformation, he would use his ring instead.

Jack came up with that bit of brilliance.

Once the wax cooled, Gavin stuffed the letter under his tunic and left his rooms, furtively glancing left and right down the hallway. A few servants were milling about, getting the chambers ready for visitors who intended to stay. Gavin hurried past them, intent on getting to the city and back before anyone took note of his absence. He didn’t realize that the same servant he’d run into at court now happened to be sweeping the room next to his.

In his haste, he didn’t pay attention to the brown eyes trailing after him, watching him leave.

 

* * *

 

“Look, man, I’m just doing my job,” Alfredo conjoled. The guard’s grip on his sword tightened, and Alfredo lifted his hands hastily. “And you’re just doing yours, I get that, man. If you’d just send someone to get Lord Trevor, he can explain-”

“No one is allowed to enter this hall,” the guard intoned darkly. “Leave.”

“Look, man, I get it, I get it. I’m just trying to do my job, man. If you’d just inform Lord Trevor I’m here-”

The guard silently raised his sword, the sharp end inches away from Alfredo’s throat. His jaw snapped shut and he leaned back, eyeing the sharp metal warily.

“C’mon, man, put that thing away before somebody gets hurt.” Alfredo gingerly pushed the blade out of his face, his eyes flickering over the guard’s shoulder. He smirked. “Because, I hate to tell you, baby, but it ain’t gonna be me.”

The guard’s mouth set into a thin line, knuckles white around the hilt, but just as he opened his mouth to respond-

“Good God, man, lower your sword!”

Trevor swept down the hallway, his inconspicuous, brown travelling cloak billowing behind him. Alfredo gave him a quick once-over, but for once he appeared unharmed. Small mercies.

“I said, drop your sword, guard!” he demanded dramatically as he came up next to Alfredo, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Are you deaf as well as blind, buddy? Can you not see that you are threatening my brother!”

Trevor clutched at his chest, overly dramatic. The guard slowly lowered his sword, shock clearly written on his rapidly paling face. Alfredo gave him a sunny smile.

“You must excuse him, _brother_. While I may have a pretty face, it is clearly you who has inherited the good looks in this family.”

The guard’s eyes flicked between them, brow furrowing in confusion. Alfredo had to admit, the resemblance between them was uncanny, but it was just as obvious in the shape of their eyes and the tint of their skin that they were born in very different corners of the known world. Still, if Trevor felt like messing with the guard, Alfredo was the last person to stop him.

“Well, I suppose so,” Trevor sniffed haughtily. Then he looked Alfredo over, leering. “Though you have indeed a pretty face… brother.”

Alfredo arched a brow at him as the guard shifted, visibly discomfited.

“Why don’t we talk more about how _pretty_ I am in private, _brother_ ,” Alfredo suggested in a low voice. Trevor squeezed his shoulder before dropping his arm.

“After you,” he insisted, swatting his butt. Alfredo winked at the guard as he sashayed past, Trevor close on his heels. The guard stared after them, until Trevor closed the door behind them.

Their eyes met, and they broke down laughing.

“His face!” Alfredo exclaimed between hiccups. “Did you see his face!”

“He wanted to ask, too,” Trevor giggled, muffling his laughter behind his palm. “He wanted to ask _badly_.”

“You’re such an _asshole_ ,” Alfredo declared, voice breathy and high-pitched. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Me?” Trevor asked incredulously, putting a hand to his chest. He sounded offended. “You must have me confused, I’m as pure and innocent as freshly fallen snow.”

“Yeah, right,” Alfredo giggled. Trevor’s eyes twinkled with amusement. Alfredo shook his head. “Pranks on the guards aside, I do actually have news.”

Trevor straightened and beckoned to follow him further inside. The spymaster’s quarters were quite generous, made for receiving guests. Trevor led him past the impressive bed through a door inlaid with gold and silver to a small dining area. ‘Small’ in comparison to the dining hall, that is - the table could easily seat twelve people. A tray sat at the head, left by one of the few vetted servants allowed access to Lord Trevor’s room.

As if reading his mind, Trevor glanced back at him, gesturing Alfredo to take a seat.

“It’d be easier to add you to the list of permitted personnel.” Trevor lifted the bell off the tray and sat it aside. “Well. Easier on the guards, at least.”

“No, thank you,” Alfredo returned serenely. He reached out and plucked one of the glazed meats out from under Trevor’s descending fork. Trevor shot him a look as he plopped it into his mouth with a smirk. “‘Sides, it’d make my job a helluva lot harder. It’s better the guards don’t memorize my face and name- man, don’t pout like that, baby boy.”

Trevor stuck out his lower lip, holding his gaze as he slowly lowered his fork. Alfredo held up his hands and rolled his eyes, waiting for Trevor to put a piece of meat into his mouth.

“No new servants while the princess stays here,” Trevor said as he chewed. “How’s that going?”

Alfredo shrugged. “Already caught a spy amongst the new applicants. Word must have travelled quickly.”

Trevor frowned, setting down his fork and dapped at his mouth with a napkin.

“Already? Word shouldn’t have reached King Geoffrey until last week, that’s not a lot of time to send a spy.”

“Maybe the princess’ entourage hauled ass?” Alfredo suggested, stealing a sip from Trevor’s wine cup.

“Maybe,” Trevor agreed dubiously. “It seems unlikely, however. There must be a spy at this castle we overlooked during our purge. How are our suspects?”

“I think we can exclude the young guard, she was just meeting one of the kitchen girls for a tryst.” Alfredo rolled his shoulders, thinking. “Lord Edgar brought his own servants with him, he seems dead set on causing as much trouble as he can. I’ve been busy befriending them, but no luck so far.”

“At least His Majesty is aware of the threat he poses.” Trevor pursed his lips. He’d been working hard to neutralize Lord Edgar’s machinations, relying on Alfredo to handle more tasks to free up his time. “What of your poet friend? Is he still taking up your free time?”

“He hurried to send a letter the very same night Princess Lindsay was announced in court, I think that warrants some suspicion,” Alfredo drawled. Trevor rolled his eyes. “It’s not paranoia if they _are_ out to get you, baby. You should know that better than most.”

“Right. You’re absolutely not jealous because he keeps corresponding with his admirer. Uh huh.”

“I know we looked into it, but things check out a little too cleanly, if you ask me.” Alfredo shook his head. “He’s making overtures since I purposefully stumbled into him during dinner. Came looking for me the very next day, in fact.”

Trevor arched a brow, smirking as he caught Alfredo’s eyes. “He approached you? How naughty.”

“Mmm,” Alfredo hummed. “If a fella didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants to roll through some hay, if you get what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Alas! I’m not convinced his interest is genuine, though he makes a good show of it.”

Trevor shook his head, chewing on his food thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, Fredo,” he mused, eyeing Alfredo up and down with a grin. “You’re a good looking fella, if I may say so myself. I think your little poet got hit by one of Cupid’s arrows, noticing you for the first time. Cheating on a lover is just bad manners, not treason.”

“Yeah, right.” Alfredo reached for the bowl of fruits, picking up a peach and rolling it in his hand. “I’ll believe it when I see it. He’s up to something, I just know it.”

“He’s been part of the king’s entourage for three seasons.” Trevor picked up his cup and swirled the wine, lost in thought. “He’s not proven suspicious once in that time, and the king likes his sharp wit.” He glanced up sharply. “I know I’m as paranoid as they come, but I think you’re worrying your pert little butt over nothing here.”

“Isn’t that the point of a spy, though?” Alfredo snorted and bit into the peach. “I’m telling you, man, prime suspect right there.”

“Maybe.” Trevor rolled his eyes, before visibly letting it go. He sighed. “Who else?”

“A kitchen maid and a stable hand,” Alfredo rattled off, noisily sucking peach juice off his fingers. “That minor noble who’s inheriting soon because he poisoned his mother.”

“Kent?” Trevor blinked, tilting his head. “You think so?”

“I don’t know, dude. Pretty sure it was poison. Might’ve drowned her instead.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant,” he drawled, throwing the napkin in Alfredo’s face. “Manners, dear. I’ll follow up on that and let the king know about our suspicions.”

“You do that.” Alfredo grinned, wiping his fingers off on the cloth. “And I’ll follow up on mine.”

“Have fun with your little poet.” Trevor waggled his brows and giggled, earning himself a half-hearted glare.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for your patronage, sir. Here’s your package.”

The shopkeep bowed as Gavin accepted the brown bundle tied up with a string of rope. A set of nondescript travelling cloaks he’d carefully chosen for their quality, but at a different shop than the one he’d bought the simple dress at. He didn’t want to be remembered, after all. Gavin wordlessly handed over the silver and left with a short nod.

His plan was coming together slowly. A haphazard, fractured thing, more pieces and steps than any real plan, but it couldn’t be helped. He had only himself to rely on, no one else he could trust, and time was running out.

He’d sent another letter to Geoff, carefully detailing circumstances. That’s what he was good at - gathering information and passing it on. His network wasn’t set up to support a high profile rescue mission. Hell, his direct contacts bought into his cover story, believing they were passing on love letters, not state secrets. And he didn’t know of any other of Geoff’s spies at the castle, if there were any. A safety precaution - if they didn’t know, they couldn’t tell. Nor were they tempted to seek one another out, giving all of them away if one of them was caught.

It wasn’t very helpful to his current task, however.

Small steps, Gavin reminded himself, settling the wrapped-up cloaks securely under his arm. He had plainclothes for the princess and himself. There was a boat he could rent by the end of the week - cutting it awfully close. King Ryan and his entourage were leaving for the negotiations soon if the preparations at the castle were anything to go by, and surely they would anticipate an ambush on the roads. No, he had to get Lindsay out beforehand.

The biggest kink in his plan was _getting_ to Lindsay.

He’d figured out where she was kept, but he couldn’t be seen lingering in those halls. There were two guards posted at her door, and almost always one of the Lords with her, if not both. With lack of progress on that front, Gavin had directed his attention to plotting an escape route out of the castle. The servants’ entrance was the least guarded, and there was no way the guards remembered every face. That’s what the new clothes were for, aside from providing anonymity on the road. If he could smuggle Lindsay out the back…

Visiting Alfredo had been very helpful. The servant was easily flustered at the attention of a minor noble, excited to walk with him, even if it was through the passageways servants used, away from prying eyes… Stroke of genius, that, if Gavin said so himself.

The marketplace was crowded as the sun rose to its zenith, filled with people hurrying to be done before the midday heat. Hawkers praised their wares from the stalls, while pickpockets used the opportunity to bump into people and cut their purses. Gavin kept his close to the chest and a wary eye on the people who did bump up against him. In fact, he was so busy watching the crowd that he stopped looking ahead and promptly ran into someone himself with a heavy _thud._

Gavin dropped his package with a yelp and nearly landed on his ass himself, if it weren’t for strong hands catching his arms.

“Apologies,” a scratchy voice said, sounding abashed. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”

Gavin let himself be heaved up to his feet, before dropping down immediately to pick up the bundle of clothes. They might not look much, but they were new and of good quality, good enough to catch a beggar’s attention, and he wasn’t sure where to get another set quick enough without drawing attention to his urgency-

“Are… you alright?” the same voice asked, bewildered. A pause, then, “Did you hit your head?”

“What?” Gavin asked distractedly, gathering up the cloaks and hastily brushing them off. Although some dirt might help hide them better…

He looked up into brown eyes, blinking slowly at him, and froze. The man’s brow was furrowed, his eyebrow quirked questioningly. But it was the unruly curls that gave him away, the blue and brown clothes cut in the latest fashion of the court. He’d seen him around before, though they’d never spoken with each other. Second son of a major noble family, though from what Gavin could recall, his cousin stood to inherit lands and title. Lord Michael had the king’s favour, however, which made him popular at court. He seemed just as happy to avoid the sycophants, rarely making an appearance.

“Lord Michael!” he exclaimed, throwing himself into a hasty bow. “My apologies, milord. I didn’t intend to run into you.”

“Clearly,” Lord Michael drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching. His sharp eyes trailed over Gavin’s face, frown deepening. “You seem familiar. Have we met?”

“You’ve likely seen me at court, milord, though we haven’t been introduced.” Gavin sketched a quick, shallower bow, swinging his cap like he would the feathered one at court. “Sir Gavin Free, poet in His Majesty’s service.”

“The king’s always been fond of pretty words,” Lord Michael mused, giving him a nod. “Lord Michael of House Jones, but you already knew that.”

His gaze was shrewd as he looked Gavin over, and Gavin shifted, trying to think of a new topic to distract the lord with.

“If I may ask, what are you doing out here, milord?” Lord Michael’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at his words, and Gavin hastened to add, “Only, a man of your rank must surely have servants to send on errands to the market.”

“I like to do things myself,” Lord Michael answered gruffly. He hesitated, eyes darting over the crowd before landing back on Gavin. “And… this errand is of a personal nature.”

“Oh?” Gavin inquired guilelessly as he perked up internally. He didn’t have much information on the young lord… yet. “I don’t mean to pry-”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Lord Michael returned dryly. He patted his shoulder and stepped beside him, then paused, giving him a long, indecipherable look. “Actually… Perhaps you could help me, Sir Gavin.”

“...yes?” Gavin inquired carefully, keeping his head down. Lord Michael seemed to think for a moment, then nodded decisively.

“Yes. I am… looking for a gift.” Lord Michael shifted awkwardly on his feet, his hand dropping from Gavin’s shoulder. “As a poet I assume you’re… knowledgeable in entertainment.”

Gavin glanced up just in time to catch the red dusking Lord Michael’s cheeks.

“For a special someone?” Gavin teased, turning around and throwing his arm over the lord’s shoulders. This was too good an opportunity to just let go. “A woman, perhaps? I do know quite a bit of romance, that’s true, and I have a vast number of poems to draw inspiration from. We’ll find your ladyfriend a proper gift to show your… _appreciation,_ or do you indeed wish to declare intentions? I won’t tell anyone if you d-”

“For Princess Lindsay,” Lord Michael interrupted him, and Gavin fell silent. “As you can imagine, she’s rather… bored. Considering her current… predicament.”

“Oh.” That was the last thing Gavin had expected Lord Michael to say. He considered the lord from the corner of his eyes. He must be one of the lords in charge of watching Lindsay - Gavin hadn’t been able to find out who it was that accompanied her yet. Lord Michael was determinedly looking the other way, and Gavin dropped his arm. “I mean, of course.”

Lord Michael shot him a sharp look.

“Can I trust your discretion in this matter, Sir Gavin?”

“Certainly, milord!” Gavin pasted on an easy smile. “My lips are sealed.”

Lord Michael eyed him intently, then nodded. “Good.” He hesitated. “The lady has gone through the entirety of the royal library available to her, but historical accounts bore her. I was hoping to find something to distract her.”

He seemed genuine, Gavin realized. Sincere in his wish to keep Lindsay entertained. Gavin remembered the blush earlier, and the conclusions he jumped to… and wondered.

“A trinket to catch her attention,” Gavin suggested, watching Lord Michael’s face closely. Lindsay must’ve worked on subverting her guards, on at least making them sympathize with her, and it seemed like it worked with Lord Michael. “Or perhaps a game to share with her?”

They walked the stalls in silence, Gavin stealing glances every so often. Lord Michael frowned in concentration as he inspected a wooden figurine, turning it this way and that before deciding against it and setting it down. There was an opportunity here, Gavin thought. Lord Michael seemed to truly care for Lindsay… but to what extent? There was no doubt he was loyal to King Ryan, but...

“You seem distracted, Sir Gavin,” Lord Michael finally spoke up, his voice accusing. Gavin made a show of biting his lip and ducking his head, clutching the cloaks to his chest. He had to play this right.

“Lord Michael… If I may be so bold… Is the princess alright?”

“As much as circumstances allow, yes.” Lord Michael narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Hook and bait.

“It’s just…” Gavin licked his lips, eyes darting over the crowd. He leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I, uh… overheard Lord Trevor speak of the king’s plans for her and…”

“What?” Lord Michael snapped, a look of confusion flitting over his face. Gavin fidgeted, shifting on his feet. He straightened and cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact.

“If I may speak frankly… I am not born for war. My passions lie... elsewhere.” He met the lord’s eyes, before quickly looking away again, signalling his discomfort. “I am not quite… comfortable with His Majesty’s plans, but I realize it’s not my place to judge. I’m sure he knows what’s best for the kingdom…”

He trailed off, leaving Lord Michael to stare at him. He grabbed Gavin’s arm as he made to leave for the next stall, pulling him in. Gavin let himself be turned around, wiping the smirk off his face before the lord could see.

Line, and sinker.

“What are you even talking about?” Lord Michael hissed. “What plans?”

Gavin opened his eyes wide. “You don’t know?” He put a note of hesitation into his voice, let his body tense up. “I thought…” A quick look around, but no one seemed to pay them attention. Still, Gavin lowered his voice for effect. “Are you not one of the lords guarding the princess? I thought you said-”

“I am,” Lord Michael interrupted him impatiently, shaking his arm insistently. “What plans?”

Gavin stared at him for a long second, heart beating in his chest. He may not know how strong Lord Michael’s loyalties were, but this proved that he cared more than he should about Lindsay. Enough to sow doubts, for now. Leave him stewing, asking questions that no one had answers to. If he approached Lord Trevor… it might tip the spymaster off, but by then it would be too late. Gavin knew Trevor well enough by now, the man would appease Lord Michael with empty words, and Lord Michael seemed clever enough to see through them. It’d force him to draw his own conclusions.

Confusion was all Gavin needed.

“I… My apologies, milord.” Gavin bowed fervently, directing his gaze to the ground. “I shouldn’t- I didn’t realize you weren’t aware. Forget I said anything.”

He shook off Lord Michael’s hand and turned away, slowly making his way to the next stall. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Lord Michael stand frozen in the middle of the path, the crowd parting around him, like waves around a rock. Confusion turned into a troubled expression. Gavin picked up a random wooden game from the stall - it looked like someone attempted to combine checkers with merels, definitely something Lindsay hadn’t seen before - and quickly paid the man.

Another glance back, and Lord Michael still seemed caught up in his thoughts, not having moved from his spot.

Gavin pulled out his boot knife, opening the game case. The figurines had little sticks, to place them into the holes on the map. Gavin surveyed them quickly, before picking up what looked like a small, crowned figure carved out of darker wood than the others. There wasn’t much space on the bottom next to the stick, but he did his best to carve a tiny approximation of a sun symbol into it. A quick look, and Lord Michael shook himself out of his stupor. Hurriedly, Gavin put the game back together into its box, before hiding the knife in the folds of the travel cloaks he was carrying.

“Here,” he called out as Lord Michael approached, thrusting out the game box. “This is unlike any game they know in the South. I think it’ll suit your purposes perfectly.”

Lord Michael blinked, startled. He took the box from Gavin, fingers carefully tracing over the intricate carvings on the outside.

“I-” He looked up, hand dropping to his pouch. “You already paid for this? I should-”

But Gavin quickly shook his head. “Please, let me. It’s my pleasure.”

 _A bribe_ , he didn’t say. Lord Michael watched him intently, but nodded. Let him think it was to buy his silence over Gavin’s earlier mistake. It’d make his slip seem more important, the threat of those ‘plans’ looming dangerously.

Gavin left the marketplace triumphant, hopeful for the first time in days that he might actually pull this off.

 

* * *

 

“Is it true you keep a cow in the dungeons?” Lindsay asked conversationally, and Ryan nearly choked on his wine. Perfect timing. She lifted her own goblet to hide her smirk. “Only, I’ve heard rumours of your fascination with farm animals, and the ladies at court seem to think you keep them far away from the public.”

Ryan set down his wine and pulled up a napkin to dap at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m afraid those rumours are rather untrue.” He shot Lindsay a piercing look. “As I’m sure you’re quite aware already.”

Lindsay shrugged, unabashed.

“I find them amusing,” she admitted, plucking a grape from her plate. She examined it curiously, before plopping it into her mouth. Then she slid a sly look Ryan’s way. “Rather like your little squabble with Lord Edgar, at that.”

The king stiffened at her words, dropping the napkin on the table. He eyed her sharply, steepling his hands in front of him.

“And pray tell, what may you have heard of that?”

“Oh, you know,” Lindsay demurred, lowering her eyes. She took her sweet time buttering a piece of bread, feeling his eyes fixated on her. She smirked. “This and that, here and there.” She put her knife down and took a bite. Ryan tapped his fingers against the table impatiently. Lindsay looked up, batting wide eyes at him innocently. “Word is he’s been stirring up trouble at court. That he disagrees with the direction you’re taking this kingdom.”

Ryan scoffed, leaning back into his chair, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Edgar is a warmonger, nothing more.” He selected an apple from the fruit bowl and started peeling it with his knife, eyes leaving hers. “I think you would dislike him if you had a chance to meet the count, he’s an old-fashioned fellow.”

“One who disagrees with kidnapping princesses?” Lindsay asked sweetly, smile sharp.

“No, that part, he deigned to agree upon.” Ryan sneered with disgust. “Indeed, he’d see you forced into a marriage with one of the higher nobles of my court, to ensure your uncle’s complacency.”

Lindsay wrinkled her nose at the thought. “That… sounds like he’s never met Uncle Geoff.”

“No, he hasn’t.” Ryan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. He turned the apple over in his hand, setting down the knife. “No, Edgar has no scruples in political machinations. His sin, as it were, is greed.”

“How so?” she inquired politely, cocking her head.

“The mines lie just beyond his county. Edgar decided it’s appropriate the crown pay _him_ a tax, to allow for swift travel of the ore to the smithies.” Ryan’s voice was deceptively calm, but his nails were digging into the meat of the apple. “This war has made him rich, and his newfound wealth makes Edgar bold. To the point where he starts fancying himself my rival.”

“The count wants the throne?” Lindsay couldn’t help but sound appalled. She had no reason to like Ryan, not after all these years of war, or the bit about, y’know, kidnapping her, but-

The apple exploded, squished in Ryan’s hand. Bits flew across the table, splattering on the walls and floor. The king opened his hand, and the rest of the apple dropped onto the table, a pile of mush. Lindsay watched as juice and pulp dripped down his fingers, arching a brow. Well, _someone_ was feeling frustrated.

Finally, Ryan lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“He thinks he has a chance,” the king snarled, and Lindsay braced herself against the arms of her chair. Ryan took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. “If,” he continued more calmly, “this war continues, that is.”

“So, what? You want to end the war to focus your attentions to trouble at the homefront?”

“Your sarcasm is appreciated,” Ryan drawled, wiping his hand off on a clean napkin. “But no. Yes, it’s part of the reason, but I am as tired of this war as I’m sure your uncle is. He has, however, as I’m certain you’re aware, quite the temper. King Geoffrey was never good at letting old grudges go.”

“Pot, kettle,” Lindsay called out cheerfully, relaxing back into her chair and taking a sip from her wine. “I’m not sure your decision to kidnap me was really the best way to go here, buddy.”

“Perhaps from your perspective. It rather feels like… insurance to me.”

“An advantage in the negotiations.” Lindsay set down her goblet and crossed her arms. “I wonder what it is you desire? Is it the coal mines on the border? Or perhaps better access to the river Credits? A favourable import tax, perhaps?”

“Now, that would be telling,” a new voice tutted, and the king closed his mouth, eyes sliding past her. “Your Majesty. A moment of Your time, please?”

Lindsay turned her head, catching a glimpse of dark hair as the man bowed. Lord Trevor, she thought with a frown. The Duke of Southeast Pimberton, if she recalled correctly. Avid talker and sharp eyes, stringing words together to build hidden traps. A dangerous man.

“Certainly.” Ryan sounded tense. Lindsay shot him a calculating look, and he plastered on a pleasant smile. “I’m afraid we have to cut our meal short here, my dear.”

“No worries.” Lindsay snatched another strip of bacon, stuffing it into her mouth and grinning up at Ryan. “I was done eating anyway. I’ll be in my quarters.”

She wiped her hands on the napkin and stood, giving him a little wave. As she passed Lord Trevor, his eyes met hers, boring into her. She arched a brow and casually flipped him off, the movement hidden as she dropped her hand from waving. Lord Trevor gasped, holding his hand to his chest as if offended, but the corners of his mouth were twitching up. Lindsay glanced back at the king, who caught her eye and shook his head at her. She bit down the urge to stick out her tongue at him and winked.

Once outside she had to wait with the guards staring awkwardly past her until Jeremy hurried down the hallway.

“Apologies, milady,” he called out, flowing into a showy bow over her outstretched hand. “I did not expect your meeting to end so soon.”

“It was rather sudden.” Lindsay returned his grin and followed him down the halls, wondering what route he’d take her on this time. He kept mixing it up to confuse her, and since Lindsay had a terrible sense of direction, it was working, too. Michael noticed on the third day of Jeremy’s shenanigans and didn’t even bother. Unless she lived here for quite a few more months than she intended, there was no way she’d find her way around the castle without a guide.

“I hope I didn’t pull you from anything too important,” she continued as they pulled into a familiar looking halfway. A left and then straight, maybe? “Surely a guard could chaperone me instead.”

“Nothing more important than a princess,” Jeremy shot back cheekily as he led her down the hall to the right. “Besides, King’s orders.”

They arrived at her door, and Jeremy opened it for her with a flourish. Lindsay gave him a long look.

“Will I not have the honour of your company this afternoon, Lord Jeremiah?” Lindsay pursed her lips and pouted at him.

“I’m afraid not at this moment, no,” Jeremy returned, exaggerating his sad voice. “Perhaps later. Lord Michael should be with you shortly, however.”

Lindsay made a great show of thinking that over, before nodding graciously.

“Acceptable.” She winked at him. “You are, of course, welcome to join us at any time.”

Jeremy grinned back. “I’ll think about it,” he drawled, giving her a long look over. Lindsay blew him a kiss and sauntered into her chambers, closing the door behind her.

She made her way out onto the balcony looking out over the castle gardens and leaned against the railing. The sun shone brightly down from the cloudless sky, about an hour past its zenith, if Lindsay had to guess. It glinted off the iron shingles covering the turrets on the inner walls. She’d been able to map the southeast corner pretty well on her semi-regular walks through the garden. Her sense of direction might be useless, but she had a keen memory for faces; it wasn’t hard to memorize the guard rotation or the patrol route.

A knock on her doors, and Lindsay looked over her shoulder to see a head of curls poke in. She couldn’t help but smile, beckoning him in.

“Hey Linds.”

“Hey Michael. Come in.”

Her guardians had been surprisingly fun to hang out with. Jeremy had a similar humour than her own, and their shenanigans often left Michael fondly exasperated. It was a cute look for him. (Jeremy agreed. Michael would probably kill them if he found out _that’s_ the reason they schemed so often.) Honestly, if they weren’t of a rival kingdom, one hers was at war with no less, she’d consider taking her flirtations to the next level. With either of them. Or both.

“You want to take another stroll through the gardens?” Michael asked as he stepped up besides her. Something like disbelief coloured his voice, but what caught Lindsay’s attention was the box of dark wood he carried.

“Nah. Later maybe, when it’s less hot.” She turned to lean casually against the railing, nodding towards the box. “What you got there?”

A blush spread over Michael’s cheeks. He thrust out his hands, pushing the box into her arms.

“It’s for you,” Michael mumbled, avoiding her eyes. He stared out across the balcony, fingers wrapping around the railing tight enough for the white to stand out. “A game I heard they don’t play where you’re from.” He cleared his throat, adding hastily, “Because you said you were bored, so…”

“Michael,” Lindsay murmured, fingers tracing the pattern carefully. She hadn’t realized- “You… You got me a gift?”

“I _guess_ ,” Michael muttered evasively. He shot her a quick glance, then looked away again. “Happy name’s day, Lindsay.”

Her head snapped from her inspection of the box.

“How did you…” She trailed off, watching the red spread up to the tip of his ear.

“It’s your second name, right? Elise?” He shrugged oh so casual, as if she weren’t gaping at him. “Second names are usually very sentimental.” He paused, giving her an uncertain look. “...at least in these parts?”

“No, it’s- it’s something alright.” Lindsay swallowed, clutching the box close to her chest. “Lindsay is the name I chose to use in the royal court. Elise is… is what my parents called me before-”

She choked, and Michael reached out to squeeze her arm. There was compassion in his eyes, and Lindsay felt incredibly glad for one bitter moment that he _knew_. That she didn’t have to rehash the story, or have it thrown in her face. Everyone knew, of course - their deaths was one of the pivotal events that led to the war. So far, only her wardens and the king had failed to bring it up in a snide comment. It was one of the reasons she was grateful her appearance in court was rarely mandated and any interactions were chaperoned.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Michael murmured, his hand a warm weight on her arm. “And I apologize for bringing up painful memories. That was not my intent.”

“No, it’s- it’s fine. I know you’re not that kinda asshole.” She surreptitiously wiped her eyes. “Thank you for the gift, Lord Michael.”

His hand dropped from her arm and he cleared his throat at her sudden formality.

“You’re welcome.” He shifted on his feet, his gaze dropping to the box in her hands. “It’s a game. I thought… it might make time pass easier. I was assured it’s something that’s generally played in the South, but I could teach you-”

Lindsay flipped the tiny hook with her nail, opening the box. Inside were tiny, wooden figurines on sticks. Half of them were carved out of birch, the other out of a darker wood - mahogany, perhaps? She picked up the biggest figure to inspect, letting Michael’s explanation wash over her.

“-get the queen to the other side of the board-”

There was something etched into the foot of the figurine. A small, round symbol, the lines scratchy and not at all like the careful strokes that carved these. A sun, Lindsay realized, and her breath stuck in her throat. She struggled to maintain a neutral expression, afraid she’d given something away. A glance up at Michael revealed him watching her - expectantly, anxiously, but not suspiciously. Not yet.

“So the queen is the most important piece on the board?” she asked innocently, smirking up at him. Michael rolled his eyes, but chuckled.

“It depends on your perspective, I guess. And your strategy- for example, if…”

And he was off again, but his shoulders relaxed, his hands flying through the air animatedly as he tried to explain to her different approaches on how to win. Lindsay watched him with a smile, but beneath that mask, her stomach twisted into tight knots.

She’d known from the beginning that she would need help. Not because she wasn’t capable - she was a damn fine swordswoman, thank you - but because she couldn’t risk it. At first it was the lives of Ashley, Andy and Steffie in the balance, then they left her no opening on the road. She knew the moment she entered the castle that she needed to be mellow - that she needed to cooperate. They were expecting her to struggle, to at least attempt an escape. She had to throw them off, wait for them to relax their guard.

Lindsay knew she had to take them by surprise. She only had one shot at this.

In fairytales, the heroine would fight her way free on her own, against insurmountable odds. And oh, how Lindsay itched to prove she was no damsel. Sitting still and waiting for others to resolve a problem wasn’t her style. So she hadn’t.

What people tended to forget was this: Lindsay was a people person. Disarming charm and self-deprecating humour that invited them to laugh with her. Court was a battle of words, but it didn’t stop there. The moment Lindsay realized where this was going, she’d set to work on the two most important pieces on the board: Michael and Jeremy. Ryan, too, in a way, but she knew her options there were limited. She didn’t expect to subvert anyone - the guards Ryan assigned her were nothing but loyal to him, and the king wasn’t stupid.

All she needed was one moment of hesitation, of sympathy.

She stared down at the gift Michael gave her, thumb pressed over the etched symbol of a sun. Unmistakably a sign that there was a spy of her uncle’s in the city, maybe even in the castle. Someone who, just like her, was waiting for the perfect moment to stage a rescue. Someone who noticed that… that Michael had relaxed his guard and took the chance. She’d been too wrapped up in their easy banter and in friendly gestures to even notice but… the spy had.

And now Michael brought her a gift more dangerous than he realized.

Lindsay felt a stab of guilt in her chest. She didn’t want to involve him like this. It was too dangerous. Yes, she intended to use Michael, and Jeremy as well. She _had_ to, there was no plan if she didn’t take them out of the picture, one way or another. But this… Michael didn’t have to get her a gift just to keep her complacent. It was thoughtful- _meaningful_ \- and it left a bad taste in her mouth because she _couldn’t_ waste this opportunity. Too much was riding on her getting out.

And yet, Lindsay wavered for one precarious moment because it was _Michael._ She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d court him in a heartbeat if circumstances allowed. He was brash and loud and kind, he called her out on her bullshit and laughed at her jokes. He-

...was looking at her expectantly, eyes twinkling with mischief, that easy smile on his lips. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she gripped the box tightly.

“You weren’t even listening, were you?” Michael accused her lightly, voice fond. She gave him a sheepish grin. “Dammit, Lindsay!

She’d meant to trap him in this emotional conflict, where he’d have to decide between his loyalty to his kingdom and his sympathy for her. A moment of hesitation turned into so much more. She didn’t think she’d end up with the same problem. Yet here she was. Torn between her duty to her people and this impossible friendship. It couldn’t last, and she knew what her decision would be, in the end. But for now, in this very moment, she would ignore the stakes and let herself enjoy his company.

Lindsay gave him a coy smile.

“I’ve always learned better by doing. Ready to get your ass kicked, Lord Michael?”

“Ha!” Michael grinned, his cheeks dimpling adorably. Lindsay’s stomach flopped. “In your _dreams_ , Princess!”

 

* * *

 

Trevor left the meeting with a frown. They would have to do something about Lord Edgar and soon - as it were, the count’s open hostility was undermining His Majesty’s authority in the eyes of the court. King Ryan needed his nobles’ full support, to face King Geoffrey in negotiations with a unified kingdom behind him.

Lord Edgar knew that. He wanted negotiations to fail, and no concession from the crown would get him to stop. It only served to make King Ryan look weak.

At least the princess was cooperating so far. Small blessings.

A commotion up ahead drew his attention. His eyes darted over the scene, before he let out a wary sigh. The guard looked up and upon recognizing Trevor, grabbed Alfredo firmly by the arm and dragged him over. Trevor shot Alfredo a tired _look_. All of this would be so much easier if he’d just let Trevor give him official permission to stick his nose wherever, instead of relying on subterfuge to sneak about. Trevor wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not how often Alfredo got caught. It did speak to the guards’ keen eyes - and less of Alfredo’s skill at going by unnoticed.

But who was he kidding? Alfredo’s skills were never in doubt. While Trevor had to dance with his opponents, Alfredo got results.

“Milord!” the guard called out, and Trevor braced himself. The brother excuse wouldn’t work here - brother or not, the guard clearly caught Alfredo somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Stray cat? No, they’d just done that last week. Trevor’s eyes lit up and he struggled to suppress a grin. Alfredo’s eyes widened, seeing _something_ in his expression.

“I caught this hoodlum sneaking about. He was just trying to break into Lady Mica’s chambers-”

“Ah yes! I’ve been wondering what was taking him so long.” Trevor smiled and nodded at the guard, before turning condescendingly to Alfredo. “Did you forget how to get to my rooms again? You’re not supposed to be seen!”

Alfredo ducked his head, playing ashamed. “My apologies, milord. It shall not happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t.” Trevor nodded benignly, taking Alfredo’s other arm and tugging him to his side.

“Sir-” The guard looked between them, obviously confused. “I must object- he was clearly trying to steal from Lady Mica. With your permission, I will take him to the dungeons and see to his punishment.”

“And leave your post, at a time like this?” Trevor protested, shooting the guard a sharp look, then relented somewhat. “You did a good job, catching someone who seemed out of place, guard. That’s exactly what I and His Majesty are looking for, and I shall commend you to your superior. Especially with our high profile guest - keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, sir!” The guard straightened and saluted. Then she looked between him and Alfredo. “What about the thief, sir?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Trevor waved her off, wrapping an arm around Alfredo’s waist. “I’ll handle it.”

“But sir! He is-”

“-a streetwalker, yes,” Trevor interjected smoothly. The guard’s eyes widened. “Stop impugning his honour and start questioning mine own!”

“S-sir! Yes… sir?”

They left the guard standing in the hallway, looking utterly befuddled. Alfredo’s shoulders were shaking, and Trevor quickly pulled him inside his own chambers, just across from Lady Mica’s. The moment the door closed, Alfredo hiccuped, before falling into helpless giggles.

“Y-you need to- to stop mess-messing with the guards, oh my God,” he laughed, thumping his fist against his chest.

“What, and ruin all this fun?” Trevor asked, faking offense. “Whatever shall I do to amuse myself, then?”

“I don’t know, man,” Alfredo choked out, wiping the tears from his eyes with another hiccup. “You need a different hobby, baby girl.”

“I suppose I could hire an actual streetwalker. Have a normal scandal. How… boring.” He wrinkled his nose as he mouthed ‘normal’.

“Man, I don’t know where to start with that, that’s so many levels of wrong.” Alfredo sighed, shaking his head.

“Well, then let’s start with why you were trying to get into Lady Mica’s rooms.” Trevor arched both his brows and shot him a pointed look.

“Trying to get out of, actually. Almost got away with it scotfree - had to pretend I was on my way in when the guard showed up.” Alfredo sounded impressed as he returned Trevor’s look. “They’re getting better.”

“Well, yes. As they should.” Trevor flashed him a humorless grin. “His Majesty has them on edge, worried that some idiot will try to break out Princess Lindsay.”

“Good thing you got me on that.” Alfredo flashed him a sharp smile, showing off pearly white teeth. “I _just_ caught one of Ramsey’s men up to no good. He’s waiting in the dungeon for you.”

“Oh?” Trevor perked up, then deflated. “I doubt I’ll have time for an interrogation any time soon. Lord Edgar is on the move.”

Alfredo nodded slowly. “Want me to send Larry to talk to him?”

Trevor gave it some thought. Larry had earned his nickname of _Lord Shifty_ , but he was ostensibly loyal to the king. What truly convinced him, though, was that there was no love lost between the earl and the count. Trevor nodded.

“Yes, that would be for the best. Is there anything else I need to know? I really need to handle Lord Edgar’s latest… _shenanigans_ .” Trevor grimaced. “His Majesty went to deal with him, but I want to remind the court _why_ it is we follow King _Ryan_.”

“Oooh, you gonna be scary Trevor.” Alfredo grinned brightly. “I _like_ scary Trevor.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said primly, returning the grin. His smile dropped as he caught Alfredo’s eyes. “I need you to keep watch while I’m busy. If someone uses this as a distraction…”

“Distraction, you say,” Alfredo murmured, carefree smile giving way to a more thoughtful expression. Trevor narrowed his eyes, straightening.

“You don’t think it’s a coincidence?”

“Oh, no, I think it’s completely unrelated.” Alfredo’s face split into a mischievous grin. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t connect them.”

“You want me to accuse Edgar of colluding with Ramsey,” Trevor deduced. That… that could work.

“Well, everyone’s aware he’s conspiring against the crown,” Alfredo pointed out, his grin growing into shit-eating proportions. “And you _did_ just catch Ramsey’s spy this morning.”

“Who may or may not have said something,” Trevor continued, returning Alfredo’s grin. “And no one would know whether or not I’ve talked to him already, not even Larry.”

“Exactly.”

“See? This is why I hired you.” Trevor pointed at Alfredo, and the grin turned into a self-satisfied smirk. “Brilliant. Utterly brilliant.”

“I do my best,” Alfredo demurred politely, but his eyes were still glittering with satisfaction.

“Nonsense,” Trevor exclaimed. “None of that false modesty here.” He clasped Alfredo’s shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “I trust you have everything in hand while I put this plan into motion.”

“Sure thing, baby girl.” Alfredo threw his arm over Trevor’s shoulders and tugged him into a one-armed hug. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

 

* * *

 

The sun was setting, throwing the palace walls into vibrant shades of orange. Michael stood at the window, watching as the guards changed stations. Lindsay had retired to the baths to freshen up, and with servants to help her there was no reason to keep watch. It was one of the few moments of relative privacy granted to her, a stark reminder of why she was here. She wasn’t a guest- she was a prisoner.

Michael couldn’t get Sir Gavin’s words out of his head.

He knew Ryan, knew the king would take any opportunity to gain an advantage in these negotiations. It was why he’d ordered Lindsay kidnapped in the first place. And Lindsay… she’d been terrible at the game, but that didn’t curb her enthusiasm. It was such a stark contrast to the tears she’d tried to hide not a minute prior. She had such a zest for life, it was addicting. _She_ was addicting, even though Michael knew nothing could ever come of it-

He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her.

“Michael?”

He startled, whirling around. Jeremy stood in the door, a concerned frown on his face. Michael pasted on a smile, to not give his inner turmoil away.

“Hey Jeremy. What’s up?”

“Not much.” Jeremy stepped up next to him and studied his face. Michael shifted on his feet, eyes flickering over Jeremy’s shoulder, towards the door. “Is everything alright?”

Jeremy was his best friend, and more importantly, he was Princess Lindsay’s other warden. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him. Still, Michael hesitated. This seemed huge- a secret he’d stumbled upon, something he should ignore to the best of his abilities, but couldn’t. He didn’t want to drag Jeremy into this if he was unaware but… who else could he talk to?

“Did… did Lord Trevor talk with you?” Michael asked cautiously. Jeremy’s stance immediately closed off, his face becoming guarded. Michael wondered if that was answer enough.

“About what?” Jeremy inquired quietly, warily. Michael swallowed and shook his head.

“Nothing. Just-” _King Ryan’s plans for Lindsay._ Jeremy was his best friend, but he’d always been closer to the king than Michael. Loyal for very different reasons, even if only few were aware how he saved Jeremy’s life. There was no question what Jeremy’s choice would be. Michael didn’t even have to ask.

So why wasn’t he as certain about his own?

“Michael? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course.” Michael shook himself, forced himself to meet Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy searched his face, expression openly concerned. Michael felt a twinge of guilt in his gut, but… he needed to know. Jeremy might be his best friend, yet he couldn’t trust him with this - he had to be circumspect. “I’m just not sure if the change in plans is gonna work out, is all.”

Jeremy’s face was hard to read. Mildly worried with a flash of something else, before it was covered with a slightly confused smile.

“His Majesty trusts Lord Trevor completely,” he pointed out, and Michael’s gut dropped. There he had his answer, whether he liked it or not.

“Yeah, I know,” Michael huffed, looking out over the courtyard. Anything to avoid looking Jeremy in the eye. “I just… didn’t expect her to be so likable, is all.”

 _Sometimes we have to choose between what’s easy and what is right_. A phrase King Ryan liked to tote about. Michael had learned a lot from him over the years, and he was grateful for the opportunity. But when that gratitude clashed with his conscience, it left him with a hard choice: would he follow the man or his teachings?

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed ruefully, bumping their shoulders. “She’s something else, alright. Doesn’t change that she’s a valuable asset in these negotiations. And she’s all for peace between our kingdoms too, right? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind much, if it weren’t for the whole kidnapping part.”

“Maybe,” Michael scoffed and shook his head. “Lindsay’s stubborn.”

“Gods, don’t I know it,” Jeremy groaned. He paused, voice going serious. “I like her, too. If everything goes according to plan… maybe we can even remain friends.”

So Jeremy knew about the plan. For a split second, Michael wondered what kept King Ryan from sharing it with him, too. Was he already suspect? Did Jeremy tell him and Lord Trevor how close he’d gotten to Lindsay? Were the plans that bad, that they knew Michael wouldn’t agree with them? He knew their moral code had always been a lot more flexible than his own.

“Yeah, I guess.” Michael hesitated, then shot Jeremy a look. “Thanks.”

“Anytime buddy.” Jeremy patted his shoulder, before leaving him to his thoughts.

Yes, he knew what he had to do. Michael swallowed and steeled himself.

He’d do the _right_ thing.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, there,” Alfredo giggled, wrapping an arm around Sir Gavin’s waist. His hand slipped into the poet’s coat, patting down his pockets. So far, he’d found a broken quill, bits of paper which he snagged in case they were secret notes, and a dinner knife. “I think my lord indulged the wine a bit too much.”

Sir Gavin chuckled, swaying against him. His mouth brushed over Alfredo’s cheek, his breath hot against Alfredo’s ear.

“Might have. You’re cute,” he mumbled, pressing Alfredo against the wall. Alfredo let him, using it as a chance to pat down the rest of his clothes. He frowned, feeling a hard shape on the inside of the poet’s shirt. He wiggled, trying to get a better sense of it. Rounded on one end, square at the other, connected by a long rod...

“And you are very, very drunk,” he returned absently, putting a note of dry amusement into his voice. He slipped a hand under the shirt, rucked it up-

Sir Gavin backed off, a frown on his face. He swayed drunkenly in place, his gaze sliding past Alfredo and down the hall. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the haze.

“Perhaps you’re right, love.” Sir Gavin reached out, thumb stroking over his cheek. A small, sad smile played around his lips. “I should leave.”

Alfredo opened his eyes wide, batting his lashes. He stepped forward, draping his arms over the poet’s shoulders.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he purred, leaning in teasingly close. Sir Gavin’s lips dropped open, and Alfredo looked up at him from under long lashes. He tried slipping his hand under the shirt again, nuzzling Sir Gavin’s cheek as a distraction. He was so close, fingers maybe an inch from the object- “Stay, my lord.”

But Sir Gavin shook his head, stopping his hand and gently pushing him away.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you, my love.” He ducked his head, red crawling up his neck and over his face. “Not after I gazed too deep into my cup tonight.” He tugged Alfredo’s hand up, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “But soon, love, I promise.”

“My lord-” Alfredo whined, but Sir Gavin pulled away. He gave Alfredo a soft smile, before walking down the hallway. Alfredo leaned back against the wall with a pout. Damn. He’d been so close, too. This back and forth between them had gone on for far longer than Alfredo originally anticipated, but it was surprisingly fun. He even started looking forward to these small moments where they snuck away, always keenly aware that the man had ulterior motives behind his ‘infatuation’.

His eyes narrowed as Sir Gavin staggered around the corner. That was _not_ the way to his quarters.

Alfredo pushed off the wall and snuck down the hall, peeking around the corner carefully. Sir Gavin’s gait straightened, his steps purposeful as he hurried along the servants’ passages, where he’d insisted to take their ‘meetings’. No stumbling, no missteps - he’d played at being drunk.

A thrill shot down his spine.

He’d been right, of course he’d been right. Alfredo couldn’t wait to rub it in, once he brought his findings to Trevor. This was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for, the moment of carelessness, of being overlooked and written off as harmless. Sir Gavin was up to something, he just needed to figure out _what_ exactly. Alfredo followed him: down the corridors, quiet on his feet and careful to remain a fair distance behind, hiding behind cupboards and in doorways whenever Sir Gavin glanced back over his shoulder. They encountered no other servants - the reason they’d gone out of their way here, ostensibly to make out. All the workers were in the kitchen at this hour, or at the drinking hall.

Sir Gavin kept to the servant ways, only stopping to rummage through a random cupboard. He pulled something dark from it, glancing left and right. Alfredo pressed himself flat against the door, heart beating loudly in his chest. A moment - eternity - later, and steps echoed through the empty hallway, slowly growing distant. Alfredo stuck his head out, just catching the tail of his capulet whipping around the corner. He hesitated, but instead of chasing after him, he stopped to look into the cupboard. Grey-white sheets were stuffed in messy piles on the shelves, clearly disturbed. The only spot of darker colour was the wood of the cupboard itself. Sir Gavin must have hidden something among the sheets in preparation for tonight - but what?

He rushed down the corridor but his hesitation cost him. No sign of Sir Gavin all the way down to the next fork. Alfredo paused, looking both ways contemplatively, before glancing back over his shoulder. There was a door, well-hidden and unknown to even most servants. A secret passageway to the East wing, where the important guests were housed. What were the chances Sir Gavin found _that_ particular secret, though?

Alfredo followed his gut instinct and ducked into the small tunnel.

The passage was dark, unlit, but Alfredo didn’t bother finding a torch. He felt his way along the bricks, until he stumbled across the latch which opened the door on the other end. His hunch paid off as hushed voices filtered in, one clearly Sir Gavin’s, the other familiar enough to tickle his memories, but no face came to mind.

“-give these to her. No one can see her leave,” Sir Gavin ordered in a harsh whisper. A pause, and then, “Can you dismiss the guards?”

“Maybe.” The other man sounded uncertain, hesitant. Alfredo pressed his ear to the door, going through the names of castle residents. Not many had the power to order the guards around, though many of the nobles fancied themselves above the rules. Hard to say if this man was of the former or the latter.

“I might be able to pull off a distraction,” Sir Gavin murmured, and Alfredo had to strain to hear him.

“Might be better.” Another pause, some shuffling, and Alfredo cursed the lack of spyholes in this particular tunnel. He’d love to see what they were doing. “You’re sure…”

“Yes.” Sir Gavin sounded determined. “It has to happen tonight. Before-” More shuffling, and then, quieter, “-before it’s too late.”

“Alright.” The other man sounded convinced. Alfredo wondered why tonight was important. As far as he knew, nothing of import was taking place. Of course, there was always something going on at court on any given day. “I’ll go get her. Where-”

A loud noise down the hall stopped them mid-sentence. Like a vase breaking, and then raised voices, muffled by distance. A long, pregnant pause, leaving Alfredo in the dark. He lifted the latch, propped the door open a slit. Light flickered over his face as he peeked out, but he could only make out the shadows of two people. They stood on the wrong side of the door for him to spy on.

“I’ll meet you by the kitchens,” Sir Gavin said, voice hushed. His shadow rippled, taking a step back and turning. Alfredo bit back a curse and slipped the door back shut. Footsteps, and then the door he was pressed against rattled. Alfredo’s heart leaped into his throat, and he carefully wrapped his fingers around the latch, holding it shut when Sir Gavin pulled on the mechanism on the opposite side. “Shit.”

“It must’ve gotten stuck,” Sir Gavin’s companion offered, concern lacing through his tone. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Fine,” Sir Gavin’s returned shortly. “Just gonna take a bit longer to take the long way around.”

Another crash, and the raised voices down the hall seemed louder, now, almost distinguishable. A tense moment passed where neither of the two men talked.

“That’ll work as a distraction. Go,” the companion hissed. “Be careful.”

“Meet you at the kitchen,” Sir Gavin said, and then footsteps echoed down the hall in two different directions.

Alfredo paused, considering his options. Then another crash sounded, voices rising in alarm - more now, and what sounded like guards. With a curse, Alfredo backed away from the door and hurried back along the tunnel. He couldn’t risk being drawn into whatever was happening, and the guards would have things in hand. No, he needed to focus on this new conspiracy he discovered.

He might not know which direction Sir Gavin went, but he knew where he was going.

It was time to get reinforcements.

 

* * *

 

Lindsay leaned against the low wall of the balcony, watching the guards patrol the gardens, then vanish from her sight. Their last round before the night shift took over, and it showed in their distracted scan of the area. Lindsay sighed, gaze wandering over the parapet. One, two, three - all stationary guards accounted for. It had become something of a nightly ritual for her, almost like counting sheep.

The sun had set a while ago, the waning moon lingering low in the sky. Torches lit the garden, but most nobles had retired by this point. Lindsay, too, was left alone, Jeremy excusing himself after dinner. Too many duties neglected in favour of keeping her company, and maybe she should be grateful for the solitude, the chance to plot an escape, but…

It was surprisingly lonely. She’d gotten used to her wardens’ constant presence.

Michael hadn’t checked in on her since yesterday’s breakfast, and even then he’d been distracted, his answers short and absent-minded. It hurt, even if Lindsay would never admit it. She shivered, pulling her shawl closer. She had yet to change into her nightgown, clinging to the hope that maybe Michael would still show up, that maybe he’d simply been delayed. Silly, perhaps, but she’d changed into the red and brown dress - Michael’s house colours, possibly his mother’s or sister’s clothes. He’d been in charge of gathering her a new wardrobe, after all, and it would make sense for him to ask his relatives. It thrilled her, to dress in his colours.

A useless daydream, far removed from reality, but Lindsay had never been good at denying herself.

She stepped away from the balcony, back into her chambers. The gaming set Michael bought her stood on a table next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the queen, pressing her thumb into the underside. The edges of the carved symbol dug into her skin, and Lindsay hoped Michael never found out that he’d been played. The gift was such a sweet gesture, and she didn’t want the knowledge that a spy used him to taint the memory.

Michael deserved better than that.

A commotion at her door caught her attention. Indistinguishable voices, a sharp _yessir_ , followed by silence. Lindsay set down the marked queen, thoughts racing. The sign had warned her to prepare, that her allies were close, ready to help her escape should the opportunity arise. Tonight was just as any other, but it was close to shift change and the moon hung low in the sky… could this be it?

A knock on the door. Lindsay’s heart thundered in her chest, palm sweaty as she reached out to open it.

“Michael?”

Michael looked over his shoulder, and Lindsay followed his gaze, watching as two guards hurried down the corridor. The same ones that were surreptitiously missing from her door. She met Michael’s eyes and took in his serious expression.

“C’mon,” he muttered, brushing past her. Lindsay closed the door behind him. She turned, only to have brown cloth thrust into her face. “We don’t have much time. Get dress-” He stopped, gaze sliding down her gown. “Oh, good. You’re still dressed.”

“And here I thought you were finally ready to _un_ dress me,” Lindsay quipped, unfolding the brown wool. A cloak with a wide hood, perfect for travel. She shot Michael a sharp look. “What’s going on?”

Michael pressed his lips together, turning his mouth into a thin, pale line.

“I’m getting you out.” The corner of his mouth twitched up into a humorless smile. “Guess I’m not quite the knight in shining armour you expected, huh?”

“That’s okay, I left my shiny armour back home, anyway,” Lindsay returned, frowning at him. She knew better than to ask, to question his motives. Knew she should just take the chance presented to her, but… King Ryan held Michael in high esteem. A gift was one thing to risk, this was Michael’s _life_ , his future. “Are you sure-”

“Yes.” Michael nodded, the lines of his face grim. “I made my choice.”

Still, Lindsay hesitated. She reached out, cupping Michael’s cheek with one hand and carefully tipping his face to look at her. She searched his eyes and found only warmth and determination. Michael stared back, his jaw working, his gaze flickering down to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. Lindsay licked her lips, heart in her throat, unsure if she was reading this right.

“Michael…”

A mouth on hers stole her breath, lips sealing her protests. Soft and pliable, and Lindsay closed her eyes, leaned into the kiss. She dropped the cloak and wrapped her arm around Michael’s neck, pulling him closer. His hand on her hip steadied her as she swayed forward, standing on her toes in an attempt to press closer. Michael was warm and soft under her touch, and she tangled her fingers in his curls, held him in place as she pushed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Michael’s hand settled in the small of her back.

They broke apart, just breathing each other in. Lindsay opened her eyes and met Michael’s steady gaze.

“I made my choice,” he reiterated solemnly, his arm tightening around her.

“Marry me,” Lindsay blurted out, face flushed and her heart beating staccato against her chest.

“I- what?” Michael stared at her, eyes wide and cheeks blushing adorably.

“Oh, you heard me, asshole.” Lindsay grinned widely, trailing her fingers down his cheek and over his lips. Michael kissed each finger pad in turn, and it sent shivers up her arm and down her spine.

“Well, either something’s wrong with my hearing or you hit your head while I wasn’t looking,” Michael snarked, dropping his hand and taking a step back. “Or did you forget _I_ kidnapped you in the first place?”

“Eh.” Lindsay waved him off. “You’re getting me out now.”

“Yes,” Michael returned dryly, raising an eyebrow. “By betraying my king and country, losing all rights to land or titles - you sure you want to marry a penniless traitor?”

“I think I liked the knight in shining armour metaphor better,” Lindsay mused, reaching out and catching his hand. Her thumb stroked over his knuckles, and she smiled at Michael. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry. Uncle Geoff is gonna be, like, super grateful you returned his favourite niece to him, he’ll give you some sort of title. Might even wring a bit of land out of him while you’re at it.”

“I’m not doing this for profit,” Michael protested, but he squeezed her hand.

“Well, good,” Lindsay huffed, grinning playfully. “Because I doubt Uncle Geoff would agree to match your inheritance, in gold or lands.”

Michael shook his head, kneeling down and picking up the discarded cloak, pushing it back into her arms.

“We need to get you out of here. C’mon, put this on.”

Lindsay draped the cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head.

“You got a plan to smuggle me out, or are we improvising?” Lindsay tilted her head, trying to gauge how much time had passed since the guards checked this corner of the garden. Shift change meant a slightly larger window where they could sneak past the wall.

“Sort of.” Michael shot her a quick grin. “We’re meeting a friend, he should get you out of here from there.”

“Me,” Lindsay repeated, eyeing him shrewdly. “You’re staying?”

“Well, yeah.” Michael shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “If possible.”

“That’s risky,” Lindsay pointed out, unable to keep the sharp edge of worry and disappointment out of her voice. “Ryan’s gonna know someone helped me. The guards-”

“I’ll manage,” Michael interrupted her, shouldering past her. He opened the door, glancing down the hallway. “It’s worth the risk.”

Lindsay disagreed, but kept her mouth shut. Marriage proposals aside, this was Michael’s choice. She hadn’t expected him to help her in the first place, she couldn’t expect him to leave his life here behind to run off with her.

It still stung.

No one paid them much attention as they hurried down the corridors. The few servants they encountered either gave Michael a quick nod or ignored them. Lindsay didn’t ask about the lack of guards; it gave the whole castle an eerie atmosphere. They walked with purpose, like they had every right to be there, and Lindsay sent a prayer to whatever deity had insisted she wear Michael’s colours today. The dress let her blend in, passing as Michael’s relative at a glance.

They walked a different path than Lindsay was used to, though as she’d only been to very few rooms of the castle and the garden, it didn’t come as a surprise. Soon the air was filled with various smells: grilled meats, baked vegetables, all sorts of food and drink. Laughter reached her ears as they stopped by the next corner. They must be near the kitchens, Lindsay realized.

“Wait here,” Michael murmured with a gentle touch to her shoulder.

She waited while he stepped around the corner, tugging her hood further down. Conspicuous in the hallways, maybe, but she’d rather not be recognized straight away. It didn’t take Michael long to return with a similarly cloaked figure. Lindsay stared, something oddly familiar to this stranger. When he pulled down his hood and smiled at her, it finally clicked.

 _“Gavin?”_ Lindsay gaped. “I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since the war started?” he cut her off, dry but pointed, and Lindsay closed her mouth. Right. Spy. His face softened as he looked at her. “I’m glad to see you’re alright, Your Highness.”

Lindsay nodded, her mind racing. She glanced at Michael who was watching them with a slight frown and a quizzical smile. Right. He didn’t know who Gavin was, _couldn’t_ know. Gavin must have sent her the message, must have convinced Michael to help.

Gavin cleared his throat, thrusting a satchel at her.

“Food. You should keep this on you, Your Hi- Linds. If we get caught, _run._ I’ll try and distract them-”

“ _We’ll_ distract them,” Michael buttedin, crossing his arms. “I’ll come with you to the wall. If anyone sees us, I have the best chance of talking us out of there.” He arched a brow at Lindsay and smiled grimly. “Her Highness was feeling restless so I took her out on a night scroll through the gardens.”

Gavin inclined his head. “That could work. I’ll stick to the shadows, then.”

Lindsay bit her lip. “We should hurry. Shift change is probably over soon.” Michael and Gavin blinked, turning to stare at her. Lindsay bared her teeth. “What? I had to do _something_ while I was stuck here, why not learn the guard patterns?”

Michael grimaced, looking like he wanted to object. Gavin grinned.

“Well thought. Let’s hurry, then.” He pulled the hood back up, hiding his face. “This way.”

Gavin led them through a back entrance into the courtyard. Lindsay squinted into the darkness. Hay bales were stacked to one side, next to some sort of trough. A fence surrounded the area, with two  or three animals tied to the far side. The courtyard itself was mostly empty and unlit at this time of night, except for one lantern by the servants’ gate, standing ajar. Lindsay could make out vague shapes of what might be carriages or carts next to the wall, but no guard in sight. One still had a horse or donkey attached.

That’s where Gavin led them.

“Get in the back and lie down flat,” he commanded, and Lindsay hopped on without question. Rough sheets covered sacks filled with straw, and she squished between them. Michael exhaled sharply.

“ _Under_ the sheets, woman,” he hissed, reaching out to tuck one back. “God.”

He sounded so fondly exasperated, Lindsay’s heart twinged. She caught his hand and grinned lopsidedly at his questioning look.

“Sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Michael’s mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile, and he shook his head. Lindsay’s heart dropped.

“My place is here,” he said quietly, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I may disagree with my king and his plans but he’s still my _king_.”

He stared at her with a helpless look, and Lindsay mustered a smile for him. She leaned in, brushing her lips over his cheek, inhaling his sweet, familiar scent.

“I understand,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Michael pressed his cheek against hers. Reluctantly, she pulled back, forcing a grin. “Come visit once all this is over. You and Jeremy both.”

“We will,” Michael promised fervently, leaning forward and catching her mouth in a desperate, lingering kiss. “I-”

“Michael?”

Lindsay jumped, and they broke apart at the sudden intrusion. The voice, as familiar as her own after all these weeks, sounded confused, tentative. There was a sharp intake of breath, and Lindsay looked up, over Michael’s shoulder.

“Lindsay?” Jeremy asked as he stepped out into the courtyard. Three guards flanked him, one of them holding a torch up high. “What are you-”

He broke off, taking in the cart, their positions, before his gaze flickered to the open gate. His expression turned blank, and guilt flashed across Michael’s face, there and gone.

“Jeremy,” he returned evenly. “I can explain-”

Something ugly twisted Jeremy’s face, dark with hints of jealousy, hurt and loss.

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” he snarled, and Michael flinched. Jeremy bared his teeth. “So, what, you wanted a crown of your own? How long have the two of you been sha-”

“Shut up!” A dark red flush enveloped Michael’s face and crept up his neck. Whether from embarrassment or anger, Lindsay couldn’t tell. “You really think this is about anything as silly as a _crush_?”

“Well, considering that the other option is you betraying all we’ve worked for because you want, I don’t know, money or fame-” Jeremy’s voice was light, almost joking, except his expression was anything but. “You tell me.”

“Try justice,” Michael shot back, crossing his arms. Jeremy looked startled. “What, you didn’t think I’d find out? Well, I did! And you know what? Maybe you were right not to tell me!”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Jeremy growled. He gripped the hilt of his sword, and Lindsay tensed. Michael shifted, moving between her and the guards. “Lord Michael. Hand over the princess, or forever renounce your name.”

The silence rang loudly over the empty courtyard.

“I’ve made my choice,” Michael murmured, hands clenching into fists. He raised his head, straightened his shoulders- “Go!”

“Heyah!” Gavin yelled, the reins whipping through the air. The cart lurched, and Lindsay bumped into Michael, grabbing his arm to keep him from falling off. She looked up and caught Jeremy’s eyes, wide in shock and frozen in place. One of the guards flanking him cursed, running off into the darkness. The other two guards drew their swords, and still Jeremy didn’t move. The gate banged open with a metallic _clang_ , breaking the moment, and the donkey honked in protest. Another whip sound, and they were off, the cart rumbling over the cobblestone road.

“Well, shit,” Lindsay summed it up, holding onto the rail of the cart for balance.

“Where we’re going?” Michael called out, turning his back on the castle. Lindsay couldn’t make out his expression in the dark of the night, now that they were leaving all light sources behind.

“The docks!” Gavin called back, tugging on the reins and leading the cart around a bend at full sprint. A sack fell off, landing with a _thud_ on the road, and Lindsay scrambled to hold on. “I’ve rented a boat-” _Rattle._ “-the river leads across the border-” _Thunk_. “-small town! Stay low, get back to-”

The rest of his words were swallowed by the wind and the ruckus of the cart as they nearly toppled over taking the next curve. Michael fell on top of Lindsay, and they clung to each other as the cart righted itself.

“Slow down, goddammit!” Michael swore, scrambling off of Lindsay. “At least for the turns, we should have enough of a headstart.”

The sound of hooves on stone multiplied, and Lindsay looked back. Three horse-shaped shadows burst out of the gate, riders bent low over the neck and urging the horses faster. The cart was unwieldy and heavy, slowing them down. At this rate, she doubted they’d make it to the river before they caught up.

“Uh oh.” Lindsay cleared her throat. “Uh, guys? We should probably rethink that whole headstart thing.”

Michael and Gavin glanced back at her words, and Gavin’s mouth set into a thin line. He slapped the reins, and the cart jolted. Michael looked equally grim, turning to face their pursuers and drawing his sword. Lindsay scooted back until her back hit the driver’s seat.

“Here!” Gavin called out, reaching around and patting along the outside of the cart. He pulled out a bow and held it out for Lindsay. “There should be arrows-”

The cart jumped as they hit a stone, shaking its passengers to the bone. Lindsay landed on a sack, air knocked out of her but bow still clutched in her hand. A quick search under the sheets revealed a quiver full of arrows, and she turned, pulling an arrow on to the string.

She took aim, sat out another bump in the road, and let the arrow fly.

Her first shot missed, and so did the second, but on the third one guard cried out, falling off their horse. The horse bucked up and then fled, breaking off into a different direction.

“One down,” Lindsay announced cheerfully, knocking the next arrow, “Two to go.”

Easier said than done. The other two wised up, splitting up and leading their horses into a zigzagging pattern. Gavin tried to shake them, taking sudden turns, but their options were limited by the size of the cart. Houses loomed in the darkness, with the low moon their only light source. One of the guards came close, leaning forward and swinging his sword low, trying to take out a wheel. Michael snarled, bringing his own sword to bear. Blood splattered across the wagon and the horse panicked, stumbling over its own feet and crashing to the road.

“Michael!” Jeremy called out, and Lindsay saw Michael freeze at the desperate tone. “Michael, stop! This is treason!”

Lindsay hesitated, then slung bow and quiver over her shoulder. She reached out, fumbling blindly in the darkness until she found his hand, only to entangle their fingers. She wasn’t sure if he was shaking or if the cart was jostling them.

“I know,” Michael croaked, quiet enough she wasn’t sure anyone was meant to hear. He lowered his sword, hunching in on himself.

The horse galloped over the cobblestone, neighing as it almost caught up with the cart. Still, neither Lindsay nor Michael lifted their weapons. The clouds broke, a ray of moonlight hitting Jeremy, illuminating his form as he stretched over the horse’s neck, empty hand reaching out to them, to Michael. His cloak fluttered in the wind behind him like a banner.

“Michael, please!” Jeremy begged, voice raw and hurt. “Please, you can still turn back! I-”

“I can’t,” Michael whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes and ducking his head. Lindsay squeezed his hand, not sure how to comfort him. “I’m sorry but- it’s _Jeremy_. I can’t-”

- _can’t hurt him_ , Lindsay realized, and her heart twisted in her chest. She looked up and caught Gavin’s eyes, giving him a nod. Gavin nodded back, jerking on the reins. The donkey protested loudly, the cart swerving, ramming into a stall on the roadside. Wood splintered and something shattered, echoing weirdly through the night. Dust rose like a cloud behind them, and Lindsay lifted her free arm to shield her eyes.

“ _Michael!_ ”

Jeremy’s horse rose like a white shadow in the moonlit street, Jeremy clinging desperately to its neck. Then the cart turned down an alley and a house blocked their view.

“I’m sorry,” Michael muttered and squeezed her hand in return.

“It’s fine,” Lindsay whispered, words sticking in her throat.

They abandoned the donkey and cart in a dark alley and followed Gavin through the confusing maze of roads and backyards to the docks. The wide river split the town in half, Lindsay vaguely recalled from her reading spree in the library. It forked into two smaller rivers at the borders of the two kingdoms - it had been a hotspot during the war, as one of Ryan’s major supply routes. Perhaps the reason why he relocated court to the royal summer castle in the first place.

“I’ve rented a boat for a week’s worth of travel,” Gavin explained as he helped Lindsay onboard. “The owner won’t notice anything amiss until it’s too late.”

They both turned to look at Michael, who was staring back at the castle. The moon was higher in the sky, now, but still Lindsay couldn’t make out more than a vaguely shaped big lump. She couldn’t even say with certainty if that _was_ the castle.

“Michael?” she asked tentatively, and Michael turned towards her.

“Guess I’m coming with you after all,” he said, aiming for a light tone and missing by a mile, voice breaking. Lindsay mustered a smile for him and held out her hand.

“Marriage proposal still stands,” she offered half-joking, half-serious. Gavin shot her a sharp look, but didn’t comment. Michael barked out a strangled laugh.

“There’s that,” he agreed, clasping her hand and letting her pull him into the boat. Gavin watched them silently, this little tilt to his head meaning he was thinking hard. Coming to a decision, he nodded once and shrugged out of his cloak, lobbing it to Michael.

“Take care of her. If you follow the flow of the river, it’ll carry you right across the border,” Gavin ordered.

“There should still be a platoon stationed in Creekstown. Once we reach them, we’ll be safe.” Lindsay nodded. She eyed Gavin shrewdly. “What about you?”

Gavin shrugged. “I’ll sneak out to the farms on the outside of town, let all the horses lose. That should be enough of a false trail to distract them for a while.”

“And after?” Lindsay cocked her head. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He smiled thinly, never looking Michael’s way. “My cover isn’t blown, far as I can tell. I worked too long and too hard to get there- I’ll be of most use here.”

No mention that he’d clearly intended to come with her because the plan has changed. Michael was her escort now. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, sitting on the back bench with the cloak drawn tight around his shoulders and hood pulled over his head. She felt a stab of pain, seeing him huddled there. He lost everything tonight… risked everything for _her_.

“Be careful,” she offered, sending a silent prayer to any gods willing to listen. Gavin winked.

“You, too.” He knelt down and untied the boat, tossing her the rope. “Safe travels, Your Highness.”

 

* * *

 

Alfredo ran down the halls, sprinting past startled servants and twitchy guards. It was a stroke of genius to send Lord Jeremy to deal with Lord Michael, Sir Gavin and their ladyfriend, once he recognized the former. Lord Jeremy was one of the king’s most trusted, perhaps even more so than Trevor. Better yet, he knew Lord Michael well and could tell his lies from truth. He would deal with their shenanigans, leaving Alfredo free to pursue this lead.

If Sir Gavin was busy for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t return to his quarters anytime soon, now would he?

It was a shame the guards had grown more vigilant with the stolen princess in the castle, or he would’ve had a chance to search the poet’s room earlier. Well, shame in that it restricted his own research. He could grudgingly admit that it was a good thing for the castle’s defenses. It stalled his investigation, however, and Alfredo didn’t believe for a second that their flirtations would end in an invitation into Sir Gavin’s rooms, that wasn’t the point. No, Sir Gavin had different ambitions, and now Alfredo had _proof_.

He was gonna enjoy rubbing this in Trevor’s face.

Alfredo glared down the guards who moved to stop him, ducking under one’s arm to throw open the door to the meeting hall. King Ryan looked up from the table and stared at Alfredo, his face twisted into a frown. His cape and crown were missing - thrown over the back of his chair and set on the table respectively. Next to him, Trevor relaxed his grip on his sword. His hair was a mess, his clothes rumpled. Alfredo zeroed in on a tear in Trevor’s sleeve - something had happened. The commotion earlier?

No matter. He’d ask Trevor about it later.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace.” Alfredo sketched a quick bow, book clutched to his chest. His heart thudded a heavy staccato, and he didn’t quite dare meet the king’s eyes, less the source of his glee be mistaken.

Trevor cleared his throat.

“Alfredo, what-”

“I found him,” Alfredo announced triumphantly, holding up the leatherbound book. “I was _right_ , and now I found the key- It’s handwritten and earmarked, with words scratched out as a guide, brilliant really-”

King Ryan raised a hand, and Alfredo fell silent.

“Breathe,” he commanded, humour dancing in his eyes. “And then start over. What have you found?”

“I found him. Ramsey’s spy.” Alfredo grinned. King Ryan and Lord Trevor straightened.

“You mean, the one that eluded us since we cleaned house?” Trevor asked sharply. “That one?”

“The very same,” Alfredo agreed smugly. He paused, relishing in their rapt attention, before he continued, “It’s the poet, Sir Gavin.”

“Oh? Is he now?” King Ryan smiled benignly down at him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. A test. Trevor wasn’t kidding when he said the little poet held the king’s favour. “I assume you have proof?”

“I do.” Alfredo swallowed, gesturing with the book. One misstep, one wrong word could mean his death, here. But... “A stack of coded letters, and this book to decipher them. I only read enough to confirm my suspicions - he’s been corresponding with Duke Jack of Northern Nor North Havermeyer.”

“King Geoffrey’s right hand man? Are you quite certain?” Trevor inquired sharply. Alfredo shot him a smug look.

“I am.”

“Well,” the king drawled, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. He seemed pleased. “That changes things.”

Alfredo grinned widely. _That it does_.

**Author's Note:**

> _The End._
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>  Shout out to my friends Sky and Kays who collaborated to make me this incredible fanart of Michael and Jeremy's confrontation!!! ([twitter](https://twitter.com/ToriHonestly/status/1076992853669265415), [tumblr](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com/post/181360408707/squigglysky-ayo-kaysno-commissioned-me-to-make))
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> Please let me know what you think! Feedback is always welcome, either here or on [my tumblr](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com/).
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> If you're interested in some BtS stuff, I'll be posting about that [here](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com/info/).
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> Also, because I'm sure the question will come up: I don't currently plan on writing a sequel for this, though I might delve back into this 'verse to explore some of the stuff I hinted at in drabbles or vignettes. I'm also tempted to write a non-canonical spin-off about Lindsay/Michael/Jeremy so lemme know if you're interested in that!


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